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THE   COMPLETE  WORKS  of 

THEOPHILE  GAUTIER 
Ifllume  VI 


YQ*- 


Arria  iflJaroila 

Stye  (§mtMU 

5Ut?  jHumtmj*H  3faot 

Translated  and  Edited  by 

PROFESSOR  F.  C.  De  SUMICHRAST 

DEPARTMENT  OF  FRENCH,  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY 


NEW  YORK 

Itgelmw,  ^mitf?  &  (His. 

MCMX 

&  4& 


ONE  THOUSAND  COPIES  OF  THIS  EDITION 
HAVE  BEEN  PRINTED  FOR  SUBSCRIBERS 


Copyright,  iqoi 
By  George  D.  Sproul 


Contents 

Introduction   3 

Spirite   '*  13 

The  Vampire   "259 

Arria  Marcella   "    3 1 5 


2227591 


List  of  Illustrations 


He  remained  standing  .  .  .  gazing  ardently  at 

the  figure  of  Spirite  "  Frontispiece 

"  Her  head  fell  back,  but  her  arms  were 

still  around  me  as  if  to  hold  me"     Page  288,  Part  I 

*'  She  appeared  to  be  filled  with  the  live- 
liest fervour "     ,  "     205,    «'«  II 

"  She  .  .  .  fitted  it  very  skilfully  to  her 

leg"  ........    .    .    «    338,    "  II 


JL  »|j  r.t%  *ti*>  rl-»        rl^»        «i»  »4»  «4»  «Jjy  "4y  «4»       cit  »i»  »A»  »4»  {fcjj* 

SPIRT T  E 

«A«  »A»  »4»  »A*  »4*      *ir*  *4*  •l*  ^jly  ^iy  *jjy  jiy  »i»  »i»  •!■»  »4»  »4»  *!y  ij?  jbsi? 


I  ntroduction 

SPIRITE  "  is  a  standing  proof  of  Gautier's 
versatility,  for  the  subject  of  the  tale  is  not 
one  that  would  usually  appeal  to  his  intense 
love  of  plastic  beauty.  However,  the  possi- 
bilities of  spiritual  beauty  that  must  necessarily  be 
expressed  in  terms  of  earthly  loveliness,  and  the  at- 
traction of  the  fantastic  and  the  extraordinary,  an 
attraction  he  could  not  readily  resist,  combined  to 
induce  him  to  try  his  hand  at  writing  a  tender,  delicate, 
ideal,  and  dreamy  poem  in  prose.  He  succeeded,  as 
the  perusal  of  the  story  conclusively  proves,  in  creating 
a  very  lovely  and  winsome  character,  that  of  Lavinia 
d'Audefini,  the  maiden  whose  confession  of  love  had 
so  often  been  on  her  lips  in  this  world,  and  at  last  made 
itself  heard  from  beyond  the  tomb. 

Gautier  has  admirably  rendered  the  suavity,  the 
chastity    of  the   young   girl's    unrequited  affection. 


3 


SPIRITE 


Engaging  herself,  she  compels  the  sympathy  of  the 
reader,  and  her  charming  apparitions  are  watched  for 
as  keenly  by  him  as  they  were  by  Guy  de  Malivert. 

It  was  a  very  difficult  subject  to  treat,  but  Gautier 
proved  equal  to  the  task.  His  touch  is  delicate,  his 
feeling  tender  •,  he  has  cast  aside  all  thought  of  the 
earth  and  of  sensuality  ;  his  conception  of  beauty, 
which  is  ever  present  with  him,  assumes  a  loftier  and 
more  ideal  aspect.  He  manages  to  describe  super- 
natural happenings  without  arousing  in  the  reader's 
mind  any  doubt  of  his  own  sincerity  and  belief  in  the 
truth  of  what  he  relates.  Though  he  was  not  a 
believer  in  religion  or  the  supernatural,  he  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  mystery,  legend,  tradition,  the  picturesque 
and  the  imaginative,  and  this  excursion  into  the  realms 
of  the  beyond  was  a  delightful  experience  to  him.  He 
must  have  been  grateful  to  Swedenborg,  whose  doc- 
trines he  had  made  himself  acquainted  with,  for  fur- 
nishing him  with  such  a  novel  and  attractive  subject. 

He  has  not  borrowed  much  from  the  seer.  He  has 
adopted  his  theory  of  the  intercourse  between  man  and 
the  beings  in  the  spiritual  world,  and  has  turned  it  to 
account  in  the  creation  of  a  dainty  and  delightful  love- 
story.     He  accepts  his  theory  of  the  necessity  for  man 


4 


INTRODUCTION 


to  repress  the  carnal  side  of  his  own  nature  and  to 
develop  the  higher  and  purer.  It  is  on  this  that  Guy's 
future  happiness  is  made  to  depend.  But  Gautier  has 
not  sought,  and  wisely,  to  follow  the  seer  in  the 
recondite  theories  of  the  nature  of  God,  of  Heaven, 
and  of  Hell  any  farther  than  was  needed  for  the  happy 
ending  of  his  story.  Gautier  is  not  at  home  in  the 
mystic  depths  of  the  Infinite,  and  where  Chateaubriand 
failed,  he  might  well  fall  short,  for  he  had  not  the  deep 
faith  of  the  Father  of  Romanticism. 

But  he  has  handled  with  much  skill  the  various  ele- 
ments that  could  contribute  to  the  interest  of  a  tale 
that  Parisians  were  to  read  in  the  columns  of  a  daily 
paper.  He  has  brought  in  enough  of  the  life  of 
society  in  his  day,  enough  of  the  worldliness  and  the 
luxury  that  the  bourgeois  delighted  in  being  familiarized 
with,  to  make  his  circle  of  readers  follow  attentively 
the  fortunes  of  this  mystic  love  affair.  He  has  used 
his  art  to  paint  a  delicate  portrait  of  an  innocent  and  , 
pure  girl  whose  heart  has  been  given  once  and  for  all 
to  the  man  of  her  choice.  Indeed  his  portrait  of 
Lavinia  d'Audefini  is  one  of  the  sweetest  he  ever  drew, 
and  far  surpasses  in  true  beauty  the  richly  coloured, 
but  sensuous  descriptions  of  Musidora  and  Arabella. 


5 


i:  4:  i:    d:  -k  i:  db tfci? 

SPIRITE 

Nor  is  the  character  of  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  sacri- 
ficed. Of  course  she  had  to  be  subordinated  to 
Spirite ;  her  charms  were  to  be  shown  inferior  to  those 
of  the  disembodied  being,  and  her  beauty  had  to  lack 
the  peculiar  attraction  that  irresistibly  drew  Guy  to 
Lavinia.  She  had  to  be  worldly,  and  to  symbolise,  to  a 
large  extent,  the  society  that  had  caused  Spirite  to 
suffer  so  bitterly  while  she  remained  on  earth.  But 
beyond  that,  Gautier  has  not  depicted  her  disagreeably ; 
the  reader  even  feels  a  natural  sympathy  for  the  poor 
woman  when  she  finds  herself  compelled  to  give  up 
hopes  of  marrying  Guy  and  is  forced  to  be  content 
with  the  empty-headed  d'Avricourt.  In  her  case,  as  in 
that  of  the  other  characters,  including  even  the  myste- 
rious Baron  de  Feroe,  there  is  a  noticeable  abstention 
from  the  exaggeration  of  which  the  Romanticists  were 
so  regularly  guilty.  The  characters  are  more  human 
than  usual,  more  genuine,  more  true  to  life,  even 
though  so  much  that  is  supernatural  enters  into  the 
composition  of  the  tale. 

"  Spirite  "  appeared  in  serial  form  in  the  Monheur 
universe/,  the  opening  chapter  being  published  on 
November  17,  1865,  and  the  concluding  one  on 
December  7  of  the  same  year.    It  was  immediately 


6 


INTRODUCTION 


reprinted  in  book  form,  and  many  successive  editions 
of  the  tale  have  since  appeared. 

"  Aria  Marcella  "  is  a  very  different  piece  of  work : 
it  is  the  evocation  of  a  past  age,  of  a  vanished  civilisa- 
tion, such  as  Hugo  had  attempted  with  brilliant  literary 
and  artistic  success  in  "  Notre-Dame  de  Paris,"  and 
Flaubert  was  to  attempt  later  in  "  Herodiade  "  and 
especially  in  "  Salammbo."  Mingling  with  this  is  the 
legend  of  the  Vampire,  one  very  wide-spread  throughout 
Europe  in  the  Middle  Ages,  and  traces  of  which  have 
not  altogether  disappeared  even  at  the  present  day.  It 
is,  at  bottom,  the  same  subject  that  Gautier  had  already 
treated  in  "  la  Morte  amoureuse,"  which  figures  in  this 
collection  under  the  title  "  The  Vampire  ;  "  but  in  the 
present  tale  the  idea  of  the  blood-sucking  woman  who 
seeks  in  the  veins  of  her  lover  the  means  to  renew  her 
youth  and  conserve  her  fatal  beauty,  is  subordinate  to 
the  restoration  of  Pompe'i  in  the  days  of  its  splendour,  . 
just  previous  to  its  destruction.  The  legendary  and 
mystical  part  of  the  story  is  treated  but  slightly,  and  as 
if  by  way  of  justifying  the  representation  of  the  now 
buried  city  as  it  must  have  existed.  It  is  the  reconsti- 
tution  of  the  buildings  and  public  edifices,  the  recalling 


7 


«|»        »|»  *h*  »4»  »4»  »A»        «4»  »4»  *t*  •!■»       ri*  rii  rjU       »JU  »A»  #|*  o|»  af* 

SPI RITE 

of  a  vanished  civilisation,  unlike  that  with  which  he 
himself  was  familiar,  it  is  the  delight  of  putting 
together  his  classical  recollections  and  turning  his  read- 
ing to  account  that  has  fascinated  Gautier  in  this 
instance.  And  it  must  be  owned,  even  by  those  who 
contend  that  all  such  restitutions  as  the  one  here 
attempted  are  but  vain  and  illusory,  that  the  author  has 
managed  to  give  at  least  a  strong  aspect  of  truth  and 
probability  to  the  picture  of  Pompei  which  he  has 
drawn. 

He  had  not  the  ambition  to  reproduce  exactly  the 
city  of  old  ;  he  knew  that  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  any 
man  to  do  so,  no  matter  how  sound  his  scholarship, 
how  vast  his  erudition,  how  powerful  his  imagination. 
He  was  content  to  give  his  readers  a  notion  of  what  a 
great  Roman  city  was  in  the  days  when  Rome  was 
mistress  of  the  world,  the  centre  of  letters  and  art,  the 
metropolis  of  commerce,  and  the  greatest  exponent  of 
luxury  and  splendour.  In  this  respect  he  has  certainly 
not  failed,  and  his  descriptions  add  much  to  the  interest 
of  the  story. 

To  the  student  of  Gautier,  it  possesses  the  additional 
charm  of  exhibiting  the  working  of  his  mind,  of  his 
imagination.    The  mere  sight  of  the  mould  of  the 


8 


4:  jb  is  £  i:  £  4: 4: 4: 4r  tfctlrdbtirtfc  4: tlrdb 

INTRODUCTION 


lovely  breasts  of  the  girl,  or  woman,  who  died  on  that 
fatal  day  when  Vesuvius  sent  down  the  awful  shower 
of  ashes  under  which  Pompei  disappeared  for  centuries, 
sufficed  to  excite  him  to  the  invention  of  a  tale  that 
has  perhaps  no  probability,  but  which  is  undoubtedly 
dramatic.  It  is  further  interesting  as  presenting  a 
contrast  to  "Spirite;  "  the  feeling  of  plastic  beauty,  as 
distinguished  from  the  spiritual  beauty  of  the  story  of 
Lavinia  d'Audefini,  is  very  marked.  Indeed,  one  may 
say  that  in  "  Aria  Marcella "  Gautier  stands  again 
upon  his  favourite  ground  and  gives  free  play  to  that 
sense  of  loveliness  which,  if  too  exclusively  sensual,  is 
none  the  less  a  sense  of  real  beauty. 

"Aria  Marcella"  was  published  on  March  I,  1852, 
in  the  Revue  de  Paris,  having  been  announced  under 
two  different  titles  —  "  Pompeia"  and  "  Mammia  Mar- 
cella." It  was  republished  in  le  Pays  in  August  of  the 
same  year,  and  then  appeared  in  book  form,  in  the 
volume  entitled  "  Un  Trio  de  Romans,"  still  in  1852. 
In  1863  it  was  placed  among  the  "Romans  et 
Contes,"  in  which  it  has  since  remained. 


9 


Spirite 


*******  j:***^*********** 


S P I R IT  E 

A    FANTASTIC  TALE 

*****************tk****** 
I 

GUY  DE  MALIVERT  was  stretched  out, 
almost  resting  upon  his  shoulders,  in  a 
very  comfortable  arm-chair  by  his  fireside, 
in  which  blazed  a  good  fire.  He  appeared 
to  have  settled  down  with  the  intention  of  spending  at 
home  one  of  those  quiet  evenings  which  fashionable 
young  men  occasionally  enjoy  as  a  relief  from  the 
gaieties  of  society.  His  dress,  at  once  comfortable  and 
elegant,  consisted  of  a  black-velvet,  braided  boating- 
coat,  a  silk  shirt,  red-flannel  trousers,  and  morocco 
slippers,  in  which  his  strong,  well  turned  feet  were 
quite  at  ease.  His  body  freed  from  any  disagree- 
able pressure,  comfortable  in  his  soft  and  yielding  gar- 
ments, Guy  de  Malivert,  who  had  enjoyed  at  home 
a  simple  but  refined  meal,  washed  down  with  a  few 


13 


SPIRITE 


glasses  of  claret  that  had  gone  to  India  and  back,  was 
in  a  condition  of  physical  beatitude  due  to  the  perfect 
harmony  of  his  organs.  He  was  happy,  though  nothing 
specially  fortunate  had  happened  to  him. 

Near  him  a  lamp,  placed  in  a  stand  of  old  crackled 
celadon,  shed  through  its  ground-glass  globe  a  soft,  milky 
light,  like  moonbeams  through  a  mist.  The  light  fell 
upon  a  book  which  Guy  held  with  careless  hand,  and 
which  was  none  else  than  Longfellow's  "  Evangeline." 

No  doubt  Guy  was  admiring  the  work  of  the  great- 
est poet  young  America  has  yet  produced,  but  he  was 
in  that  lazy  state  of  mind  in  which  absence  of  thought 
is  preferable  to  the  finest  thought  expressed  in  sublime 
terms.  He  had  read  a  few  verses,  then,  without  drop- 
ping his  book,  had  let  his  head  rest  upon  the  soft 
upholstering  of  the  arm-chair,  covered  with  a  piece  of 
lace,  and  was  enjoying  to  the  full  the  temporary  stop- 
page of  the  working  of  his  brain.  The  warm  air  of 
the  room  enfolded  him  like  a  suave  caress.  All  around 
was  rest,  comfort,  discreet  silence,  absolute  repose. 
The  only  sound  perceptible  was  an  occasional  rush  of 
gas  from  a  log  and  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  the  pendu- 
lum of  which  rhythmically  and  softly  marked  the  flight 
of  time. 


•4 


SPIRITE 


It  was  winter ;  the  new-fallen  snow  deadened  the 
distant  roll  of  carriages,  infrequent  enough  in  this 
peaceful  quarter,  for  Guy  lived  in  one  of  the  quietest 
streets  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  Ten  o'clock 
had  just  struck,  and  the  lazy  fellow  was  congratulating 
himself  upon  not  being  in  evening  dress,  stuck  in  a 
window  recess  at  some  ambassadorial  ball,  with  no 
other  prospect  than  the  angular  shoulders  of  some  old 
dowager  whose  dress  was  cut  too  low.  Although  the 
temperature  of  the  room  was  that  of  a  hot-house,  it  was 
evident  by  the  brisk  burning  of  the  fire  and  the  deep 
silence  in  the  streets,  that  it  was  cold  outside.  The 
splendid  Angora  cat,  Malivert's  companion  on  this 
evening  of  idlesse,  had  drawn  so  close  to  the  fire  as  to 
scorch  its  lovely  fur,  and  but  for  the  gilded  fender  it 
would  have  curled  itself  up  on  the  hot  ashes. 

The  room  in  which  Guy  de  Malivert  was  revelling 
in  such  peaceful  joy  was  partly  a  studio  and  partly  a 
library.  It  was  a  large,  high-ceiled  room  on  the  top 
floor  of  the  building,  which  was  situated  between  a 
great  court  and  a  garden  in  which  grew  trees  so  old  as 
to  be  worthy  of  a  royal  forest,  and  which  are  nowadays 
found  only  in  the  aristocratic  faubourg ;  for  it  takes 
time  to  grow  a  tree,  and  the  new-made  rich  cannot 


5 


SPI RITE 


improvise  them  to  shade  the  mansions  they  build  with 
fortunes  that  seem  to  fear  bankruptcy. 

The  walls  were  hung  with  tawny-coloured  leather, 
and  the  ceiling  was  a  maze  of  old  oaken  beams,  fram- 
ing in  compartments  of  Norway  pine,  of  the  natural 
colour  of  the  wood.  The  sober  brown  tints  set  off  the 
paintings,  sketches,  and  water-colours  hung  on  the  walls 
of  this  sort  of  gallery  in  which  Malivert  had  collected 
his  art  curiosities  and  fancies.  Oak  book-shelves,  low 
enough  not  to  interfere  with  the  paintings,  formed  a 
wainscotting  round  the  room,  broken  only  by  a  single 
door.  An  observer  would  have  been  struck  by  the 
contrast  offered  by  the  books  placed  on  the  shelves  : 
they  appeared  to  be  a  mingling  of  the  library  of  an 
artist  and  of  a  scholar.  By  the  side  of  the  classical 
poets  of  every  age  and  every  country,  Homer,  Hesiod, 
Vergil,  Dante,  Ariosto,  Ronsard,  Shakespeare,  Milton, 
Goethe,  Schiller,  Byron,  Victor  Hugo,  Sainte-Beuve, 
Alfred  de  Musset,  Edgar  Poe,  stood  Creuzer's  "  Sym- 
bolism," Laplace's  "  Celestial  Mechanics,"  Arago's 
"Astronomy,"  Burdach's  "  Physiology,"  Humboldt's 
"  Cosmos,"  the  works  of  Claude  Bernard  and  Berthelot, 
and  others  on  pure  science.  Yet  Guy  de  Malivert  had 
no  pretensions  to  scholarship.     He  knew  not  much 

16 


SPI RITE 


more  than  one  learns  at  college,  but  after  he  had 
refreshed  his  literary  education,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  ought  not  to  remain  ignorant  of  all  the  fine 
discoveries  which  are  the  glory  of  our  age.  He  had 
made  himself  acquainted  with  them  to  the  best  of  his 
ability,  and  could  talk  astronomy,  cosmogony,  elec- 
tricity, steam,  photography,  chemistry,  micrography, 
spontaneous  generation ;  he  understood  these  matters, 
and  sometimes  astonished  his  interlocutor  by  his  novel 
and  ingenious  remarks. 

Such  was  Guy  de  Malivert  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight 
or  twenty-nine.  His  hair  had  thinned  a  little  on  the 
brow ;  he  had  a  pleasant,  frank,  and  open  expression ; 
his  nose,  if  not  as  regular  as  a  Greek  nose,  was  never- 
theless handsome,  and  parted  two  brown  eyes,  the 
glance  of  which  was  firm  ;  his  mouth,  with  its  some- 
what full  lips,  betokened  sympathetic  kindliness.  His 
hair,  of  a  rich  brown,  was  massed  in  thick,  close  curls 
that  needed  not  the  hair-dresser's  irons,  and  a  golden 
auburn  moustache  shaded  his  upper  lip.  In  a  word, 
Malivert  was  what  is  called  a  handsome  fellow,  and 
when  he  had  made  his  entrance  into  society  he  had 
met  with  many  unsought  successes.  Mothers  provided 
with  marriageable  daughters  were  most  attentive  to 


SPI RITE 

him,  for  he  had  an  income  of  forty  thousand  a  year 
and  a  sickly  multi-millionaire  uncle,  who  had  made  him 
his  heir.  An  enviable  lot !  Yet  Guy  had  not  married. 
He  was  satisfied  with  nodding  approvingly  at  the 
sonatas  young  ladies  performed  for  his  benefit ;  he 
politely  led  his  partners  to  their  seats  after  the  waltz, 
but  his  conversation  with  them  during  the  intervals  of 
the  dance  was  confined  to  such  commonplaces  as, 
"It  is  very  hot  in  this  room," — an  aphorism  from 
which  it  was  impossible  to  deduce  any  matrimonial 
intentions.  It  was  not  that  Guy  lacked  wit ;  on  the 
contrary,  he  could  have  readily  found  something  less 
commonplace  had  he  not  feared  to  become  entangled 
in  the  web  more  tenuous  than  cobwebs,  woven  in 
society  round  maidens  whose  marriage  portion  is  small. 

If  he  found  himself  made  too  welcome  in  a  house 
he  ceased  to  call  there,  or  started  on  a  long  trip;  on 
his  return  he  noted  with  satisfaction  that  he  was  en- 
tirely forgotten.  Perhaps  it  will  be  supposed  that 
Guy,  like  many  young  men  of  to-day,  formed  in  shady 
society  temporary  morganatic  unions  which  enabled 
him  to  dispense  with  a  more  regular  marriage,  but  it 
was  not  so.  Without  being  more  of  a  rigorist  than 
became  him  at  his  age,  Malivert  had  no  liking  for  the 

i~8 


SPIRITE 


made-up  beauties  who  dressed  their  hair  like  that  of 
poodles  and  wore  exaggerated  crinolines.  It  was  a 
mere  matter  of  taste.  Like  everybody  else  he  had 
had  one  or  two  love  affairs.  Two  or  three  misunder- 
stood women,  more  or  less  separated  from  their  hus- 
bands, had  proclaimed  him  their  ideal,  whereunto  he 
had  replied,  "You  are  very  kind,"  not  daring  to  tell 
them  that  they  were  in  no  wise  his  ideal.  Malivert 
was  a  well-bred  young  gentleman.  A  little  supernu- 
merary at  the  Delassements-Comiques,  whom  he  had 
presented  with  a  few  louis  and  a  velvet  mantle,  had 
attempted  to  asphyxiate  herself  in  his  honour,  but  in 
spite  of  these  stirring  adventures,  Guy  de  Malivert, 
entirely  frank  towards  himself,  perceived  that  having 
reached  the  solemn  age  of  twenty-nine,  when  a  young 
man  turns  into  a  mature  man,  he  was  ignorant  of  love, 
such,  at  least,  as  it  is  depicted  in  novels,  dramas,  and 
poems,  and  even  as  described  by  his  companions  when 
in  a  confidential  or  a  boastful  mood.  He  consoled 
himself  easily  for  this,  however,  by  reflecting  upon  the 
troubles,  calamities,  and  disasters  due  to  that  passion, 
and  he  patiently  awaited  the  coming  of  the  day  when 
chance  would  bring  to  him  the  woman  destined  to  fix 
his  affections. 


1Q 


SPI  R  I  TE 


Yet,  as  the  world  is  very  apt  to  dispose  of  you  as 
best  it  fancies  and  as  best  suits  it,  it  had  been  decided 
in  the  society  which  Guy  de  Malivert  most  frequented, 
that  he  was  in  love  with  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  a  young 
widow  whom  he  visited  very  often.  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court's  estates  marched  with  those  of  Guy  ;  she  had 
about  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  was  only 
twenty-two  years  of  age.  She  had  suitably  mourned 
lor  M.  d'Ymbercourt,  a  crusty  old  fellow,  and  she  was 
now  in  a  position  to  take  a  young  and  handsome 
husband,  of  birth  and  fortune  on  a  par  with  her 
own.  So  the  world  had  married  them  on  its  own 
authority,  reflecting  that  they  would  have  a  pleasant 
home,  a  neutral  ground  where  people  might  meet. 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  tacitly  accepted  the  match 
and  looked  upon  herself  as  already  somewhat  Guy's 
wife,  though  he  made  no  haste  to  declare  himself ; 
thinking  rather  of  ceasing  his  calls  upon  the  young 
widow,  whose  airs  of  anticipated  proprietorship  palled 
upon  him. 

That  very  evening  he  was  to  have  taken  tea  at 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's,  but  laziness  had  mastered  him 
after  dinner.  He  had  felt  so  comfortable  in  his  own 
apartments  that  he  had  rebelled  at  the  thought  of  dress- 


20 


4:4:4:4:4:  db  4:4: 4:4:4?  4:4:4:  4:4:  4:4: 5*r?*rtfr  tlrdbdb 
SPI RITE 


ing  and  driving  out  with  the  thermometer  at  ten  or 
twelve  above  zero,  in  spite  of  his  having  a  fur  coat, 
and  a  hot-water  bottle  in  his  carriage.  He  satisfied 
himself  with  the  excuse  that  his  horse's  shoes  had  not 
been  sharpened  for  frost,  and  that  the  animal  might 
slip  on  the  frozen  snow  and  hurt  himself.  Besides,  he 
did  not  care  to  keep  standing  for  two  or  three  hours, 
exposed  to  the  cold  north  wind  in  front  of  a  door,  a 
horse  that  Cremieux,  the  famous  dealer  of  the  Champs- 
Elysees,  had  charged  him  five  thousand  francs  for. 
From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  Guy  was  not  very  much 
in  love,  and  that  Mme.  d'Ymbercouit  would  have  to 
await  a  good  deal  longer  the  ceremony  that  was  to 
enable  her  to  change  her  name. 

As  Malivert,  feeling  sleepy  in  the  warm  temperature 
of  the  room,  in  which  floated  the  blue,  fragrant  smoke 
of  two  or  three  cabanas,  the  ashes  of  which  filled  a 
small  antique  Chinese  bronze  cup  on  a  stand  of  eagle- 
wood,  placed  near  him  on  the  table  that  bore  the  lamp, 
—  as  Malivert  was  beginning  to  feel  in  his  eyes  the 
golden  dust  of  sleep,  the  door  opened  gently  and  a  ser- 
vant entered,  bearing  upon  a  silver  salver  a  dainty 
letter,  scented  and  sealed  with  a  seal  well  known  to 
Guy,  for  his  face  immediately  clouded.     The  odour  of 


21 


SPI  R  ITE 


musk  exhaled  by  the  note  seemed  also  to  produce 
a  disagreeable  impression  upon  him.  It  was  a  note 
from  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  reminding  him  of  his 
promise  to  come  and  drink  a  cup  of  tea  with  her. 

"The  devil  take  her!"  he  exclaimed  most  ungal- 
lantly,  "  and  her  wearisome  notes  too !  Much  fun 
there  is  in  driving  across  the  city  merely  to  drink  a 
cup  of  hot  water  in  which  have  been  soaked  a  few 
leaves  coated  with  Prussian  blue  and  verdigris,  while 
I  have  here  in  that  lacquered  Coromandel  caddy 
caravan  tea,  genuine  tea,  still  bearing  the  seal  of 
the  Kiatka  custom-house,  the  uttermost  Russian  post 
on  the  Chinese  frontier.  Most  assuredly  I  shall 
not  go." 

His  habits  of  courtesy  made  him  change  his  mind 
nevertheless,  and  he  ordered  his  valet  to  bring  him 
his  clothes ;  but  when  he  saw  the  trousers'  legs  hang- 
ing pitifully  on  the  back  of  the  arm-chair,  the  shirt  as 
stiff  and  white  as  a  sheet  of  porcelain,  the  black  coat 
with  its  limp  sleeves,  the  patent-leather  shoes  with  their 
brilliant  reflections,  the  gloves  stretched  like  hands  that 
have  been  passed  through  a  rolling-mill,  he  was  seized 
with  sudden  desperation  and  plunged  fiercely  back  into 
his  arm-chair. 


22 


4:db  £  db    £  &  &  £  d?tfc^4:d:tlr4?ti?  4:  &  A 

SPIRITE 


"  I  shall  stay  at  home  after  all,  Jack ;  get  my  bed 
ready." 

As  I  have  already  mentioned,  Guy  was  a  well-bred 
young  fellow  and  kind-hearted  besides.  Feeling  some 
slight  remorse,  he  hesitated  on  the  threshold  of  his  bed- 
room, every  comfort  in  which  smiled  invitingly  upon 
him,  and  said  to  himself  that  ordinary  decency  required 
that  he  should  send  a  few  words  of  apology  to  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt,  pleading  a  headache,  important  busi- 
ness, an  unexpected  obstacle,  in  order  to  explain,  with 
some  show  of  politeness,  his  not  having  called  upon 
her.  But  Malivert,  entirely  capable  as  he  was,  though 
not  a  literary  man,  of  writing  a  tale  or  an  account  of 
a  trip  for  the  Revue  des  Deux  Monies,  detested  writing 
letters,  and  especially  merely  formal,  ceremonious  notes, 
such  as  women  dash  off  by  the  score  on  the  corner  of 
their  toilet-table  while  their  maid  is  busy  attiring  them. 
He  would  much  sooner  have  wrought  out  a  sonnet 
with  rare  and  difficult  rimes.  His  incapacity  in  this 
respect  was  complete,  and  he  would  walk  from  one  end 
of  Paris  to  the  other  rather  than  scribble  a  couple  of 
lines.  The  thought  of  having  to  reply  to  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  suggested  to  him  the  desperate  expe- 
dient of  going  to  see  her  himself.     He  went  to  the 


SP  I  RITE 


window,  pulled  the  curtains  aside,  and  through  the 
damp  panes  saw  the  darkness  of  night,  full  of  densely 
falling  flakes  of  snow  that  spotted  it  like  a  guinea- 
hen's  back.  This  led  him  to  think  of  Grimalkin, 
shaking  off  the  snow  heaped  up  on  his  shining  har- 
ness. He  reflected  upon  the  unpleasant  passage 
from  his  coupe  to  the  vestibule;  of  the  draft  in  the 
stairs  unchecked  by  the  warmth  of  the  stove,  and 
especially  he  thought  of  Mme  d'Ymbercourt  standing 
by  the  mantelpiece,  in  a  very  low-necked  dress,  recall- 
ing that  character  in  Dickens  that  was  always  known 
by  the  name  of  "The  Bosom,"  and  whose  white  form 
advertised  the  wealth  of  a  banker.  He  saw  her  superb 
teeth  set  off  by  a  fixed  smile;  her  eyebrows,  that  might 
have  been  drawn  with  Indian  ink,  so  perfectly  arched 
were  they,  yet  that  owed  nothing  to  art ;  her  beautiful 
eyes ;  her  nose,  so  perfect  in  shape  and  modelling  that 
it  might  have  been  reproduced  as  a  model  in  a  student's 
text-book;  her  figure,  which  all  dressmakers  declared 
perfect ;  her  arms  as  round  as  if  turned,  and  laden  with 
over  massive  bracelets.  The  remembrance  of  all  these 
charms  that  the  world  had  assigned  to  him,  by  marry- 
ing him,  little  as  he  cared  for  her,  to  the  young  widow, 
filled  him  with  such  intense  melancholy  that  he  went 


24 


SPI RITE 


to  his  desk,  resolved,  in  spite  of  the  horror  of  it,  to 
write  ten  lines  rather  than  go  and  drink  tea  with  that 
lovely  woman. 

He  took  out  a  sheet  of  paper  embossed  with  a 
quaintly  interlaced  "G"  and  "  M,"  dipped  in  the  ink 
a  fine  steel  pen  in  a  porcupine  holder,  and  wrote,  well 
down  the  page  in  order  to  have  the  less  to  say,  the  word 
"  Madam."  Then  he  paused,  and  leaned  his  cheek  on 
his  hand,  for  his  inspiration  failed  him.  He  remained 
for  some  time  thus,  his  wrist  in  place,  his  fingers  grasp- 
ing the  pen,  and  his  brain  unconsciously  filled  with 
thoughts  wholly  foreign  to  the  subject  of  his  note. 
Then,  as  if  Malivert's  body  were  tired  of  waiting  for 
the  words  that  did  not  come,  his  hand,  nervous  and  im- 
patient, seemed  inclined  to  fulfil  its  task  without  further 
orders.  His  fingers  extended  and  contracted  as  if  trac- 
ing letters,  and  Guy  was  presently  much  amazed  at 
having  written,  quite  unconsciously,  nine  or  ten  lines 
which  he  read  and  which  were  about  as  follows:  — 

"  You  are  beautiful  enough  and  surrounded  by 
lovers  enough  for  me  to  tell  you,  without  giving  you 
cause  for  offence,  that  I  do  not  love  you.  It  is 
not  creditable  to  my  taste  that  I  should  make  this 
confession  —  that  is  all.    Why,  then,  keep   up  an 


2  5 


SPI R ITE 

intercourse  which  must  end  in  linking  two  souls  so 
little  intended  to  be  brought  together,  and  involve 
them  in  eternal  unhappiness  ?  Forgive  me;  I  am 
going  away,  and  you  will  not  find  it  difficult  to 
forget  me." 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  exclaimed  Malivert,  when  he  had 
read  his  letter  over.  "  Am  I  crazy  or  a  somnambulist  ? 
What  a  strange  note  !  It  is  like  those  drawings  of 
Gavarni's  which  exhibit  at  one  and  the  same  time  in 
the  subscription  the  real  and  the  expressed  thought, 
the  true  and  the  false.  Only,  in  this  case  the  words  do 
tell  the  truth.  My  hand,  instead  of  telling  the  pretty 
fib  I  meant  it  to  write,  has  refused  to  do  so,  and, 
contrary  to  custom,  my  real  meaning  is  expressed  in 
my  letter." 

Guy  looked  carefully  at  the  note  and  it  struck  him 
that  the  character  of  the  handwriting  was  not  quite  like 
his  usual  hand. 

"  It  is  an  autograph  that  would  be  contested  by 
experts,"  he  said,  "  if  my  correspondence  were  worth 
the  trouble.  How  the  devil  did  this  curious  trans- 
formation take  place  ?  I  have  neither  smoked  opium 
nor  eaten  haschisch,  and  the  two  or  three  glasses  of 
claret  I  drank  cannot  have  gone  to  my  head.     I  carry 


26 


♦4*  *A»  *}c    tjb  tfc  d^?  tf^  *^*      ^rtl?  t??  tl?dbtt?i?j?tl?Tfcd™t!bti??^j 
S  P  I  R  I  T  E 

my  liquor  better  than  that.  What  will  become  of  me 
if  the  truth  takes  to  running  off  my  pen  without  my 
being  aware  of  it  ?  It  is  fortunate  that  I  re-read  my 
note,  never  being  quite  sure  of  my  spelling  in  the 
evening.  What  would  have  been  the  effect  of  these 
too  truthful  lines?  And  how  indignant  and  amazed 
would  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  have  been  had  she  read 
them  !  After  all,  it  might  have  been  better  had  the 
letter  gone  such  as  it  is.  I  should  have  gained  the 
character  of  being  a  monster,  a  tattooed  savage,  un- 
worthy of  wearing  a  white  neck-tie,  but  at  least  that 
wearisome  engagement  would  have  been  broken  off 
short.  If  I  were  superstitious,  I  might  easily  see  in 
this  a  warning  from  heaven  instead  of  a  most  improper 
forgetfulness." 

After  a  pause  Guy  came  to  a  sudden  decision.  "  I 
shall  go  to  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  for  I  am  incapable 
of  rewriting  the  note." 

And  he  dressed  in  a  very  bad  temper. . 

As  he  was  about  to  leave  his  room,  he  thought  he 
heard  a  sigh,  but  so  faint,  so  soft,  so  airy  that  but  for 
the  deep  silence  of  night  he  would  not  have  noticed  it. 

Malivert  stopped  short  on  the  threshold  of  his  room, 
for  that  sigh  affected  him  as  the  supernatural  affects 


27 


S  PI  RITE 


the  bravest  of  men.  There  was  nothing  very  terrify- 
ing in  the  faint,  inarticulate,  plaintive  sound,  and  yet 
Guy  was  more  deeply  moved  than  he  cared  to  confess 
even  to  himself. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  he ;  "  it  must  have  been  the  cat 
plaining  in  its  sleep."  And  taking  from  his  valet  a 
fur  coat  in  which  he  wrapped  himself  with  a  skill  that 
testified  to  long  trips  in  Russia,  he  descended,  very 
much  out  of  sorts,  the  steps  at  the  foot  of  which  his 
carriage  awaited  him. 


28 


SPIRITE 

ii 

LEANING  back  in  the  corner  of  his  coupe, 
his  feet  on  the  hot-water  bottle,  his  fur  coat 
drawn  close  round  him,  Malivert  gazed, 
without  noticing  them,  upon  the  strange  effects  of 
light  and  shade  produced  upon  the  carriage  window, 
slightly  obscured  by  the  frost,  by  the  sudden  blaze  of 
light  from  a  shop  brilliantly  lighted  with  gas  and  still 
open,  late  though  the  hour  was,  and  at  the  prospect  of 
the  streets  dotted  with  brilliant  points  of  light. 

The  carriage  soon  crossed  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde, 
under  which  flowed  the  dark  waters  of  the  Seine  in 
which  amid  the  sombre  gleams  were  reflected  the 
lights  of  the  lamps.  As  he  drove  on  Malivert  could 
not  help  recalling  the  mysterious  sigh  he  had  heard  or 
thought  he  had  heard  as  he  left  his  room.  He  ex- 
plained it  by  means  of  all  the  common-sense  reasons 
with  which  sceptics  explain  the  incomprehensible. 
No  doubt  it  had  been  due  to  the  wind  in  the  chimney, 
to  some  noise  from  outside  altered  by  an  echo,  to  the 


29 


SPIRITE 

low  vibration  of  one  of  the  piano-strings  responding  to 
the  passage  of  some  heavy  dray,  or  after  all  it  was  but 
a  sound  uttered  by  his  angora  cat  dreaming  by  the  fire- 
side, as  he  had  at  first  believed.  This  was  the  most 
probable  explanation,  the  most  reasonable.  Yet  Mali- 
vert,  while  recognising  the  logical  soundness  of  these 
views,  was  inwardly  dissatisfied  with  them ;  a  secret 
instinct  told  him  that  the  sigh  was  not  due  to  any  of 
the  causes  to  which  his  scientific  prudence  attributed 
it ;  he  felt  that  the  soft  moan  had  been  uttered  by  a 
soul  and  was  no  mere  vague  sound  of  matter.  There 
was  at  once  breath  and  grief  in  it.  Whence,  then,  did 
it  come  ?  Guy  dwelt  on  it  with  that  sort  of  question- 
ing uneasiness  experienced  by  the  strongest  minds 
when  they  find  themselves  face  to  face  with  the 
unknown.  There  had  been  no  one  in  the  room,  save 
Jack,  a  by  no  means  sentimental  person.  The  softly 
modulated,  harmonious,  tender  sigh,  softer  than  the 
soughing  of  the  breeze  in  the  branches  of  the  trem- 
bling aspen,  was  unquestionably  feminine — it  was 
impossible  to  deny  it. 

Another  thing  puzzled  Malivert — the  letter  which 
had,  so  to  speak,  written  itself,  as  if  a  will  independent 
of  his  own  had  guided  his  hand.     He  could  not  seri- 


3° 


^4.4.4.4.4. 4.  4-  ^^4*^4.^4.^4. 4. 4. 4;  4. 4k  4»4. 

SPI  RITE 


ously  explain  this  away,  as  he  had  at  first  endeavoured 
to  do,  by  attributing  it  to  absent-mindedness.  The 
feelings  of  the  soul  are  controlled  by  the  mind  before 
they  show  on  the  paper ;  and  besides,  they  do  not  write 
themselves  down  while  the  mind  is  elsewhere.  Some 
influence  he  could  not  define  must  have  mastered  him 
and  acted  in  his  stead  while  he  was  dreaming,  for  now 
he  thought  of  it  he  was  quite  certain  he  had  not  fallen 
asleep  even  for  an  instant.  He  had  certainly  felt  lazy, 
somnolent,  comfortably  stupid  the  whole  evening,  but 
at  that  particular  moment  he  had  unquestionably  been 
wide  awake.  The  unpleasant  alternative  of  going  to 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's  or  writing  her  a  note  of 
apology  had  even  somewhat  feverishly  excited  him. 
The  lines  that  expressed  his  real  feelings  more  accu- 
rately and  forcibly  than  he  had  yet  confessed  even  to 
himself,  were  due  to  an  intervention  which  he  felt 
compelled  to  consider  supernatural  until  it  was  ex- 
plained away  by  investigation  or  another  name  were 
found  for  it. 

While  Guy  de  Malivert  revolved  these  thoughts  in 
his  mind,  the  carriage  was  traversing  streets  more 
deserted,  owing  to  the  frost  and  snow,  than  was  usual 
in  those  rich  and  fashionable  quarters  in  which  the  day 


31 


SPIRITE 


does  not  end  until  very  late  in  the  night.  The  Place 
de  la  Concorde,  the  rue  de  Rivoli,  the  Place  Vendome 
had  been  quickly  left  behind,  and  the  coupe,  turning 
into  the  boulevard,  entered  the  rue  de  la  Chaussee- 
d'Antin  where  lived  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt. 

As  he  entered  the  court-yard  Guy  experienced  a 
disagreeable  shock  :  two  files  of  carriages,  the  coach- 
men muffled  up  in  furs,  occupied  the  sanded  space  in 
the  centre,  and  the  restive  horses,  shaking  their  bits, 
cast  the  foam  from  their  mouths  on  to  the  snow  on 
the  ground. 

"  This  is  what  she  calls  a  quiet,  informal  evening  ; 
tea  by  the  fireside.  That  is  always  the  way  with  her. 
All  Paris  is  here  and  I  have  not  put  on  a  white  tie," 
grumbled  Malivert.  "  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  bed, 
but  I  tried  to  play  the  diplomat  like  Talleyrand,  and 
did  not  follow  my  first  impulse  just  because  it  was  the 
right  one." 

He  slowly  ascended  the  steps,  and,  after  throwing 
off  his  fur  coat  walked  up  to  the  drawing-room,  the 
doors  of  which  were  opened  for  him  with  a  sort  of 
obsequious  and  confidential  deference  by  a  lackey,  as 
for  one  who  would  soon  be  the  master  of  the  house 
and  in  whose  service  he  desired  to  remain. 


3^ 


SPIRITE 


"  There  !  "  said  Guy  de  Malivert  to  himself,  as  he 
noticed  the  man's  servility  was  more  marked  than 
usual ;  "  the  very  servants  dispose  of  my  liberty  and 
marry  me  on  their  own  authority  to  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court  !    Yet  the  banns  have  not  been  published  !  " 

Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  on  perceiving  Guy  advancing 
towards  her  with  rounded  back,  —  the  modern  way  of 
bowing  to  ladies, — uttered  a  slight  exclamation  of 
pleasure,  which  she  endeavoured  to  make  up  for  by 
assuming  an  air  of  coldness  and  dissatisfaction.  But 
her  ever  smiling  lips,  accustomed  to  exhibit  teeth  of 
irreproachable  pearliness,  could  not  form  the  pout 
called  for,  and  the  lady,  observing  in  the  mirror  that 
her  attempt  was  a  failure,  made  up  her  mind  to  show 
herself  good-natured,  like  an  indulgent  woman  who 
knows  that  nowadays  masculine  gallantry  must  not  be 
overtaxed. 

"  You  are  very  late,  Mr.  Guy,"  said  she,  holding 
out  a  hand  gloved  with  such  a  small  glove  that  it  felt 
like  wood  when  pressed ;  u  no  doubt  you  remained  at 
your  club  smoking  and  playing  cards.  Well,  you 
have  been  punished  for  your  remissness  by  not  hear- 
ing the  great  German  pianist  Kreisler  play  Liszt's 
4  Chromatic  Galop,'  and  the  charming  Countess  Salva- 


3 


33 


SPI RITE 


rosa  sing  Desdemona's  air  better  than  ever  Malibran 
did." 

Guy,  in  a  few  well  chosen  words,  expressed  the 
regret,  not  very  deep,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  felt  at  having 
missed  the  galop  by  the  virtuoso  and  the  aria  by  the 
society  leader,  and  as  he  felt  rather  awkward  at  having 
on,  among  all  those  people  dressed  up  to  the  nines,  a 
black-silk  tie  instead  of  a  white-lawn  one,  he  tried  to 
escape  and  to  gain  some  less  brilliantly  lighted  spot 
where  his  involuntary  solecism  in  dress  might  more 
easily  be  concealed  in  relative  shadow.  He  had  much 
difficulty  in  doing  so,  for  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  kept 
recalling  him  to  her  side  by  a  glance  or  a  remark  that 
required  a  reply,  brief  though  Guy  strove  to  make  it. 

At  last,  however,  he  managed  to  gain  the  recess  of 
a  door  leading  from  the  great  drawing-room  to  a 
smaller  one,  arranged  like  a  hot-house,  with  trellises 
covered  with  camellias. 

Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's  drawing-room  was  furnished 
in  white  and  gold,  and  hung  with  crimson  Indian 
damask.  The  chairs,  arm-chairs,  and  sofas  were 
easy,  comfortable,  and  well  upholstered.  The  chande- 
lier with  its  gilded  branches  was  filled  with  tapers  in 
rock-crystal  foliage.    Lamps,  vases,  and  a  tall  clock, 


34 


«a*  >ju  (4*  •!»  »4»    •4'  •A*    ^^t|jt|?tl?tJjts?d?dbtibt*?  djr  wife 

SPI  RITE 


all  evidently  the  work  of  Barbedienne,  adorned  the 
white-marble  mantelpiece.  A  handsome  carpet,  the 
pile  of  which  was  soft  and  thick  like  sward,  lay  under 
foot.  Superb,  full  curtains  draped  the  windows,  and 
on  the  wall  smiled,  even  more  than  the  original,  a 
magnificently  framed  portrait  of  the  Countess  painted 
by  Winterhalter. 

There  was  no  objection  to  be  made  to  this  drawing- 
room  filled  with  rare  and  costly  articles,  the  like  of 
which,  however,  any  one  rich  enough  not  to  fear 
the  bills  of  an  architect  or  a  house-furnisher,  could 
easily  obtain.  The  commonplace  luxury  of  the  room 
was  entirely  suitable,  but  it  lacked  distinctiveness. 
Not  a  single  thing  indicated  the  individuality  of  the 
owner,  and  if  the  Countess  had  been  absent,  the  room 
might  as  well  have  been  that  of  a  banker,  a  lawyer,  or 
an  American  making  a  short  stay  in  the  capital.  Soul 
and  individuality  were  wanting.  So  Guy,  naturallv 
artistic,  considered  the  luxury  exceedingly  vulgar  and 
disagreeable,  though  it  was  exactly  the  background 
best  suited  to  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  whose  beauty  was 
composed  merely  of  commonplace  perfections. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room,  on  a  circular  divan  sur- 
mounted by  a  great  China  vase  in  which  bloomed  a 


35 


•!>  .1 .,  rf  .  rJ  .  »Xi  «X»  «A»  ,A»  «A»  «A»  ri*  fjti  »JU  »£*  «1*  rl%  *1»  »Ai  «i« 

SPIRITE 

rare  exotic  plant,  —  whose  name  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt 
had  not  even  the  least  idea  of,  and  which  had  been  put 
there  by  her  gardener,  —  were  seated,  in  dresses  of  gauze., 
tulle,  lace,  satin,  and  velvet,  the  swelling  folds  of  which 
surged  to  their  shoulders,  ladies,  most  of  them  young 
and  beautiful,  whose  fancifully  extravagant  gowns  testi- 
fied to  the  inexhaustible  and  costly  powers  of  invention 
of  Worth.  On  their  brown,  golden,  red,  and  even 
powdered  hair,  so  abundant  that  even  the  least  sar- 
castic could  not  help  thinking  art  had  been  called  in 
to  beauty's  aid,  sparkled  diamonds,  waved  feathers, 
dewy  leaves  showed  green,  natural  or  imaginary 
flowers  bloomed,  strings  of  sequins  rustled,  darts, 
daggers,  pins  with  double  balls  gleamed  bright,  orna- 
ments of  scarabeus-wings  glistened,  golden  bands  were 
crossed,  ribbons  of  red  velvet  wound  in  and  out,  stars 
of  gems  quivered  on  the  end  of  springs,  and  in  general 
there  could  be  seen  whatever  may  be  piled  upon  the 
head  of  a  fashionable  woman,  —  to  say  nothing  of  the 
grapes,  the  currants,  and  the  brightly  coloured  berries 
which  Pomona  loans  to  Flora  to  complete  an  evening 
head-dress. 

Leaning  against  the  door-post,  Guy  watched  the 
satiny  shoulders  covered  with  rice  powder,  the  necks  on 


36 


SPI RI TE 


which  curled  stray  threads  of  hair,  the  white  bosoms 
occasionally  betrayed  by  the  too  low  epaulet  of  the 
bodice,  small  misfortunes  to  which  a  woman  sure  of 
her  charms  easily  reconciles  herself.  Besides,  the 
motion  of  drawing  up  the  sleeve  is  uncommonly 
graceful,  and  the  act  of  adjusting  the  opening  of  the 
dress  on  the  bosom  so  that  it  shall  have  a  satisfactory 
contour  affords  opportunities  for  attractive  poses.  My 
hero  was  indulging  in  this  interesting  study,  which  he 
preferred  to  wearisome  conversation,  for,  in  his  opinion, 
it  was  the  most  profitable  thing  one  could  do  at  a  ball  or 
a  reception.  He  glanced  with  careless  eye  at  these  living 
Books  of  Beauty,  at  these  animated  Keepsakes  which 
society  scatters  in  drawing  rooms  just  as  it  places 
stereoscopes,  albums,  and  papers  on  the  tables  for  the 
benefit  of  shy  people  who  do  not  know  which  way  to 
turn.  He  enjoyed  his  pleasure  in  greater  security 
because,  the  report  of  his  approaching  marriage  with 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  having  gone  abroad,  he  was  not 
obliged  to  be  careful  of  his  glances,  formerly  closely 
watched  by  mothers  desirous  of  settling  their  daughters 
in  life.  Nothing  was  expected  of  him  now.  He  had 
ceased  to  be  a  prey.  He  was  settled  and  done  for, 
and  although  more  than  one  woman  thought  to  herself 


3" 


SPIRITE 


that  he  might  have  done  better,  the  fact  was  accepted. 
He  might  even,  without  running  any  risk,  have  spoken 
two  or  three  phrases  running  to  a  young  girl,  for 
was  he  not  already  as  good  as  married  to  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  ? 

At  the  same  door  where  stood  Guy  de  Malivert 
stood  also  a  young  gentleman  whom  he  often  met  at 
his  club,  and  whose  somewhat  eccentric  Northern 
mode  of  thought  he  rather  liked.  It  was  the  Baron  de 
Feroe,  a  Swede,  a  fellow-countryman  of  Swedenborg's, 
bending  like  him  over  the  abyss  of  mysticism,  and 
as  fully  taken  up  with  the  other  world  as  with  this. 
He  had  a  strange  and  characteristic  head.  His  fair 
hair,  falling  almost  straight,  was  fairer  even  than  his 
skin,  and  his  moustache  was  of  so  pale  a  gold  that  it 
looked  like  silver.  His  gray-blue  eyes  were  filled  with 
an  indescribable  expression,  and  his  glance,  usually 
half  veiled  by  long  pale  lashes,  flamed  sharply  out  and 
seemed  to  reach  beyond  the  ken  of  human  vision. 
But  the  Baron  de  Feroe  was  too  thorough  a  gentleman 
to  affect  the  least  eccentricity  ;  his  manners,  cold  and 
even,  were  as  correct  as  an  Englishman's,  and  he  did 
not  pose  in  front  of  mirrors  as  a  seer.  That  evening, 
as  he  was  going  to  the  Austrian  ambassador's  ball  on 


38 


SPI RITE 

leaving  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's  reception,  he  was  in 
full  dress,  and  on  the  breast  of  his  coat,  half  concealed 
by  the  facing,  shone,  suspended  from  a  fine  golden 
chain,  the  stars  of  the  Elephant  and  of  the  Dannebrog, 
the  Prussian  Order  of  Merit,  the  order  of  Saint  Alex- 
ander Newsky,  and  other  decorations  from  Northern 
sovereigns  which  testified  to  his  diplomatic  services. 

He  was  really  an  extraordinary  man,  but  the  fact 
did  not  at  once  strike  the  beholder,  so  well  was  it  con- 
cealed by  diplomatic  phlegm.  He  went  out  into 
society  a  great  deal,  and  was  to  be  met  with  at  the 
club,  and  the  Opera,  but  under  his  outward  appear- 
ance of  a  fashionable  man  he  lived  in  mysterious 
fashion.  He  had  neither  intimate  friends  nor  com- 
panions. In  his  admirably  kept  house,  no  visitor  had 
ever  got  beyond  the  outer  drawing-room,  and  the  door 
that  led  to  the  other  apartments  opened  to  no  one. 
Like  the  Turks,  he  devoted  to  outer  life  but  a  single 
room  which  he  plainly  did  not  live  in.  Once  his 
visitor  was  gone,  he  withdrew  within  his  apartment. 
What  did  he  busy  himself  with  ?  No  one  knew. 
Occasionally  he  remained  invisible  for  a  considerable 
time,  and  those  who  noted  his  absence  attributed  it  to  a 
secret  mission,  or  to  a  trip  to  Sweden,  the  home  of  his 


39 


sp  Trite 


family  ;  but  any  one  who  had  happened  to  pass,  at  a 
late  hour,  through  the  unfrequented  street  where  lived 
the  Baron,  might  have  seen  a  light  in  his  window  or 
the  Baron  himself  leaning  on  the  balcony,  his  gaze  lost 
amid  the  stars.  No  one,  however,  was  interested  in 
spying  upon  Baron  de  Feroe  ;  he  rendered  exactly  to 
society  what  was  society's,  and  the  world  asks  no 
more  of  any  man.  With  women,  though  scrupulously 
polite,  he  never  trespassed  beyond  certain  limits,  even 
when  he  might  safely  have  done  so.  In  spite  of  his 
coldness  he  was  considered  rather  attractive.  The 
classical  purity  of  his  features  recalled  the  Greco- 
Scandinavian  work  of  Thorwaldsen.  "  He  is  a  frozen 
Apollo,"  said  of  him  the  lovely  Duchess  of  C,  who, 
if  gossip  were  to  be  believed,  had  tried  to  melt  the 
frost. 

Like  Malivert,  Baron  de  Feroe  was  looking  at  a 
beautiful  snow-white  neck  and  back,  seen  in  a  slightly 
bending  attitude,  that  imparted  an  exquisite  curve  to 
the  lines,  and  which  occasionally  shivered  at  the  tick- 
ling of  a  spray  of  green  leaves  that  had  become  partially 
detached  from  the  head-dress. 

"  A  lovely  girl,"  said  the  Baron  to  Guy,  whose 
glance  he  had   followed.    "  What  a  pity  she  has  no 

40 


SPI  RITE 


soul.  The  man  who  falls  in  love  with  her  will  share 
the  fate  of  the  student  Nathaniel,  in  Hoffmann's  tale; 
he  will  run  the  risk  of  pressing  a  lay-figure  in  his  arms 
at  the  ball,  and  that  is  a  deathly  sort  of  dance  for  a 
man  of  feeling." 

"You  need  not  fear  for  me,  my  dear  Baron,"  laugh- 
ingly replied  Guy  de  Malivert ;  "I  do  not  feel  the 
least  desire  to  fall  in  love  with  the  fair  owner  of  these 
beautiful  shoulders,  though  beautiful  shoulders  are  in 
themselves  nowise  to  be  disdained.  At  the  present 
time,  to  my  shame  be  it  spoken,  I  do  not  feel  the 
faintest  approach  to  love  for  any  one  whomsoever." 

"What!  Not  even  for  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  whom 
people  say  you  are  going  to  marry  ?  "  replied  the  Baron 
with  an  air  of  ironical  incredulity. 

"  There  are  people  in  this  world,"  returned  Mali- 
vert, quoting  Moliere,  "who  would  marry  the  Grand 
Turk  to  the  Republic  of  Venice ;  but  for  my  part  I 
hope  I  shall  remain  a  bachelor." 

"  And  you  will  do  right,"  affirmed  the  Baron,  in  a 
tone  that  passed  suddenly  from  friendly  familiarity  to 
mysterious  solemnity.  "Do  not  bind  yourself  with 
earthly  ties.  Remain  free  for  the  love  that  will  per- 
chance come  to  you.    The  spirits  are  watching  over 


4i 


£  Ju  4,  4*  4, 4, 4. 4;  4;  4^  £  4v  4. 4. 4j  4*  4. 4;  4. 4.  4»  £  4?  dfe 

SPIRITE 

you,  and  in  the  next  world  you  might  have  cause  to 
regret  eternally  a  mistake  committed  in  this." 

As  the  young  Swedish  baron  uttered  these  strange 
words,  his  steel-blue  eyes  flashed  singularly  and  his 
glance  seemed  to  burn  into  Guy  de  Malivert's  breast. 
Coming  after  the  curious  events  of  the  evening,  the 
advice  was  received  by  him  with  less  incredulity  than 
he  would  have  felt  the  day  before.  He  turned  on  the 
Swede  a  look  full  of  wonder  and  questioning,  as  if  to 
beg  him  to  speak  more  clearly,  but  de  Feroe,  glancing 
at  his  watch,  said,  "  I  shall  be  late  at  the  Embassy," 
pressed  Malivert's  hand  earnestly,  and  made  his  way  to 
the  door  without  rumpling  a  single  gown,  treading 
upon  a  single  train,  damaging  a  single  flounce,  with  a 
delicate  skill  that  proved  he  was  well  used  to  society. 

"  Well,  Guy,  are  you  not  coming  for  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 
said  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  who  had  at  last  discovered 
her  supposed  admirer  leaning  thoughtfully  against  the 
door  of  the  smaller  drawing-room.  Malivert  had  to 
follow  the  mistress  of  the  house  to  the  table  whereon 
smoked  the  tea  in  a  silver  urn  surrounded  with 
porcelain  cups. 

The  Real  was  trying  to  win  its  prey  back  from  the 
Ideal. 


42 


SPIRITE 


III 

THE  singular  words  spoken  by  Baron  de  Feroe 
and  his  almost  sudden  disappearance  after 
he  had  uttered  them  gave  Guy  food  for 
thought  as  he  returned  to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain, 
carried  along  at  Grimalkin's  fastest  trot ;  for  the  horse, 
though  a  thorough-bred,  did  not  need  any  urging  to 
speed,  the  cold  north  wind  making  the  return  to  his 
warm  loose-box  with  its  comfortable  litter  pleasant 
indeed. 

"What  can  he  have  meant  by  his  solemn  riddles 
spoken  in  so  mysterious  a  tone  ? "  thought  Guy  de 
Malivert,  as  Jack  assisted  him  to  undress.  "De  Feroe 
has  been  brought  up  in  the  least  romantic  of  civilisa- 
tions ;  he  is  sharp,  clean,  and  cutting  like  an  English 
razor,  and  his  manners,  for  all  their  perfect  courtesy, 
are  colder  than  the  Arctic.  I  cannot  suppose  that  he 
was  trifling  with  me.  People  do  not  fail  in  that  way  to 
Guy  de  Malivert,  even  when  they  are  as  brave  as  the 
white-eyebrowed  Swede.    Besides,  what  would  be  the 


43 


SPI  RITE 


object  of  such  a  joke  ?  He  certainly  did  not  stay  to 
enjoy  it,  for  he  disappeared  at  once  like  a  man  who  is 
determined  to  say  no  more.  Well,  let  me  dismiss  all 
this  nonsense  from  my  mind.  I  shall  see  the  Baron 
at  the  club  to-morrow,  and  no  doubt  he  will  then  be 
more  explicit.  Let  me  to  bed  and  try  to  sleep, 
whether  the  spirits  are  watching  me  or  no." 

Guy  did  go  to  bed,  but  sleep  did  not  come  to  his 
call,  though  he  courted  it  by  reading  the  most  soporific 
pamphlets,  perusing  them  with  infinite  mechanical 
attention.  In  spite  of  himself  he  was  watching  for 
those  faint  sounds  which  are  perceptible  even  in  the 
deepest  silence.  The  rattle  of  the  clock  ere  the  hour 
or  the  half-hour  struck,  the  crackling  of  the  sparks  in 
the  embers,  the  creaking  of  the  wainscotting  under  the 
influence  of  the  heat  of  the  room,  the  sound  of  the 
dropping  oil  in  the  lamp,  the  draft  of  air  attracted  by 
the  hearth  and  moaning  softly  through  the  chinks  of 
the  door  in  spite  of  the  weather-strips,  the  unexpected 
fall  of  a  newspaper  from  his  bed  to  the  floor, —  made  him 
start,  as  at  the  sudden  explosion  of  a  firearm,  so  excited 
were  his  nerves.  His  hearing  was  so  tense  that  he 
could  hear  the  pulsations  of  his  arteries  and  the  beating 
of  his  heart.     But  amid  all  these  confused  murmurs  he 


44 


SPIRITE 


did  not  manage  to  distinguish  anything  resembling 
a  sigh. 

His  eyes,  that  he  closed  from  time  to  time  in  hopes 
of  inducing  sleep,  would  forthwith  reopen  and  examine 
the  recesses  of  the  room  with  a  curiosity  not  unmixed 
with  apprehension.  He  strongly  desired  to  see  some- 
thing, and  yet  dreaded  to  do  so.  Occasionally  his 
dilated  pupils  seemed  to  perceive  dim  shapes  in  the 
corners,  which  the  light  of  the  lamp,  covered  with  a 
green  shade,  left  in  partial  darkness  ;  the  folds  of  the 
curtains  assumed  the  aspect  of  feminine  garments  and 
appeared  to  move  as  though  they  clothed  a  living  body, 
but  it  was  all  imagination.  Blooms,  luminous  points, 
changing  patterns,  butterflies,  waving  vermiculated  lines 
undulated,  danced,  swarmed,  swelled,  and  sank  before 
his  weary  eyes  without  his  being  able  to  make  out  any- 
thing definite. 

More  agitated  than  I  can  express,  and  feeling,  though 
he  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything,  an  unknown  pres- 
ence in  his  room,  he  rose,  drew  on  a  camel's-hair 
dressing-gown  he  had  brought  back  from  Cairo,  threw 
two  or  three  logs  on  the  fire,  and  sat  down  by  the 
chimney  in  a  great  arm-chair  more  comfortable  for  a 
sleepless  man  than  the  bed  upset  by  his  wakefulness. 


45 


SPI RITE 


Near  the  arm-chair  he  saw  lying  on  the  carpet  a 
crumpled  paper.  It  was  the  note  he  had  written  to 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  under  the  spell  of  that  mysterious 
impulse  which  he  could  not  yet  account  for.  He 
picked  it  up,  smoothed  it  out,  and  noticed,  on  examin- 
ing it  carefully,  that  the  writing  was  not  quite  like  his 
own.  It  seemed  to  be  the  work  of  an  impatient  hand, 
incapable  of  controlling  itself,  attempting,  in  the  pro- 
duction of  a  fac-simile,  to  copy  the  model  exactly,  but 
inserting,  among  the  characters  of  the  original,  loops 
and  strokes  of  its  own.  The  aspect  of  the  writing 
was  more  elegant,  more  slender,  and  more  feminine 
than  Guy's. 

As  he  noted  these  details,  Guy  thought  of  Edgar 
Poe's  "  Golden  Bug "  and  of  the  wonderful  skill 
with  which  William  Legrand  manages  to  decipher 
the  meaning  of  the  cryptogram  used  by  Captain  Kidd 
to  indicate  enigmatically  the  exact  spot  where  he  had 
concealed  his  treasure.  He  longed  to  possess  the  deep 
intuition  which  can  guess  so  boldly  and  so  accurately, 
which  fills  up  blanks  and  restores  connections.  But  in 
this  case  not  even  Legrand  himself,  even  assisted  by 
Augustus  Dupin,  of  "The  Stolen  Letter"  and  "The 
Murder  in  the  Rue  Morgue,"  could  have  managed  to 


46 


SPIRITE 


guess  at  the  secret  power  that  had  controlled  Malivert's 
hand. 

Guy,  however,  at  last  fell  into  the  heavy,  troubled 
sleep  which,  on  the  approach  of  dawn,  follows  a  night 
of  insomnia.  He  woke  when  Jack  entered  to  relight 
the  fire  and  to  assist  his  master  to  dress.  Guy  felt 
chilly  and  uncomfortable;  he  yawned,  stretched  his 
limbs,  took  a  cold  bath,  and,  refreshed  by  his  tonic 
ablutions,  was  soon  himself  again.  Gray-eyed  morn, 
as  Shakespeare  hath  it,  walking,  not  o'er  the  dew  of  a 
high  eastern  hill,  but  down  the  slope  of  the  snow-cov- 
ered roofs,  glided  into  the  room,  the  shutters  and  cur- 
tains having  been  opened  by  Jack,  and  restored  to 
every  object  its  real  aspect  as  it  drove  away  the  dreams 
of  the  night.  There  is  nothing  so  reassuring  as  the 
sunlight,  even  if  it  be  but  the  pale  beams  of  a  winter 
sun  such  as  just  then  streamed  in  through  the  frost- 
flowers  on  the  window-panes. 

Having  recovered  the  ordinary  feelings  of  life,  Guy 
felt  amazed  at  his  agitation  of  the  past  night,  and  said 
to  himself,  "I  did  not  know  I  was  so  nervous;"  then 
tore  open  the  wrappers  of  the  newspapers  which  had 
just  been  brought  up,  cast  a  glance  at  the  articles  they 
contained,  read  the  news  of  the  town,  took  up  the  copy 


47 


SPI  RITE 


of  41  Evangeline "  he  had  been  reading  the  previous 
evening,  smoked  a  cigar,  and  having  thus  whiled  away 
the  time  until  eleven  o'clock,  dressed,  and,  by  way  of 
exercise,  resolved  to  walk  to  the  Cafe  Bignon,  where 
he  proposed  to  breakfast.  The  frost  of  the  early 
morning  had  hardened  the  snow  fallen  during  the  night, 
and  as  he  traversed  the  Tuileries  Malivert  enjoyed 
looking  at  the  mythological  statues  powdered  with  the 
white  snow,  and  the  great  chestnut-trees  covered  with  a 
silvery  mantle.  He  breakfasted  on  choice  and  care- 
fully selected  dishes,  like  a  man  seeking  to  repair  the 
fatigue  due  to  a  sleepless  night,  and  chatted  gaily  with 
pleasant  companions,  the  very  flower  of  Parisian  wits 
and  sceptics,  who  had  adopted  as  a  motto  the  Greek 
maxim  :  "  Do  not  forget  not  to  believe."  Yet,  when 
the  jokes  became  rather  too  free,  Guy  smiled  somewhat 
constrainedly.  He  did  not  share  unresistingly  in  the 
paradoxes  of  incredulity  and  the  boastfulness  of  cyni- 
cism. The  words  of  Baron  de  Feroe,  "  The  spirits 
are  watching  you,"  involuntarily  recurred  to  him,  and 
he  felt  as  though  a  mysterious  witness  stood  close 
behind  him.  He  rose,  waved  an  adieu  to  his  friends, 
and  took  a  turn  or  two  on  that  boulevard  along  which 
more  wit  travels  in  one  day  than  in  a  whole  year  in 


48 


:fc  &  rk  &  &  &  &  &  4:  ^  &  4rtb  tl?   tb  &  &  db  4:   ie  sb  sb 
SPI RITE 


the  rest  of  the  world,  and  finding  it  rather  deserted  on 
account  of  the  cold  and  the  early  hour,  he  mechanically 
turned  into  the  Rue  de  Chaussee-d'Antin.  He  was 
soon  at  the  house  of  Mme.  d' Ymbercourt.  As  he  was 
about  to  ring  he  thought  he  felt  a  breath  sweep  by  his 
ear  and  that  he  heard  these  words  whispered  very  softly 
but  very  distinctly  :  "  Do  not  go  in."  He  turned  round 
quickly,  but  saw  no  one. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  "  said  Malivert  to 
himself.  "  Am  I  going  mad  ?  Am  I  suffering  from 
hallucinations  in  broad  daylight  ?  Shall  I  or  shall  I 
not  obey  the  injunction  ?  " 

But  when  turning  abruptly  he  had  let  go  the  bell- 
handle;  the  bell  had  rung  and  the  door  opened.  The 
porter,  standing  in  front  of  his  lodge,  looked  at  Mali- 
vert, who  hesitated  about  entering.  He  did  so,  how- 
ever, although  he  did  not  feel  much  like  it  after  the 
supernatural  incident  which  had  just  occurred.  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  received  him  in  the  small  drawing-room, 
decorated  in  buttercup  yellow  and  blue  ornaments,  in 
which  she  received  her  morning  callers.  That  par- 
ticular shade  of  yellow  was  especially  unpleasant  to 
Guy.  "Yellow  is  the  favourite  colour  of  brunettes," 
had  replied  the  Countess  to  Malivert,  who  had  more 


4 


49 


SPI RITE 


than  once  allowed  himself  to  ask  for  the  removal  or 
the  odious  colour. 

Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  wore  a  skirt  of  black  taffeta 
with  a  jacket  of  brilliant  colour  braided  and  covered 
with  more  jet  and  embroidery  than  a  maja  going  to  a 
bull-fight  or  a  ferla  ever  put  on  her  bodice.  The 
Countess,  although  a  woman  of  the  world,  was  foolish 
enough  to  allow  dressmakers  to  clothe  her  in  costumes 
worn  only  by  the  rosy-cheeked  and  small-mouthed  dolls 
of  fashion-plates. 

Contrary  to  her  habit,  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  seemed 
to  be  seiious;  a  shade  of  annoyance  darkened  her 
usually  serene  brow,  while  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
were  drawn  down.  One  of  her  kind  friends  had  just 
left  her  and  had  asked  her,  with  the  feigned  naturalness 
of  women  on  such  occasions,  when  her  marriage  to 
Guy  de  Malivert  was  to  take  place.  The  Countess 
had  blushed,  stammered,  and  replied  evasively  that  it 
would  soon  come  off,  though  Guy,  whom  every  one 
destined  to  be  her  husband,  had  never  asked  for  her 
hand  or  even  formally  declared  himself,  —  a  fact  attrib- 
uted by  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  to  respectful  timidity 
and  partly  perhaps  to  that  feeling  of  uncertainty' 
which   every   young  man   experiences  when   on  the 


50 


4;  4j  4j  4j  4;  4;  4.  4.  4;  4j  4*  £  4j  4y  4;  4;  jfc  4;  4»  4;  4y  4; 

SPIRITE 


point  of  giving  up  bachelor  life.  But  she  felt  quite 
sure  that  he  would  speak  ere  long,  and  she  looked  upon 
herself  already  as  his  bride ;  so  much  so  that  she  had 
determined  upon  the  changes  which  the  entrance  of  a 
husband  into  her  mansion  would  necessitate.  More 
than  once  she  had  said  to  herself,  as  she  looked  at 
certain  rooms :  "  This  shall  be  Guy's  room ;  this 
his  study,  and  this  his  smoking-room." 

Although  he  did  not  much  care  for  her,  Guy 
could  not  help  acknowledging  that  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court  was  endowed  with  regular  beauty,  enjoyed  an 
umblemished  character,  and  was  possessed  of  a  con- 
siderable fortune.  He  had  let  himself  drift,  without 
being  particularly  attracted,  and  like  all  people  who 
are  heart-whole,  into  frequenting  this  house  where 
he  was  received  more  cordially  than  anywhere  else, 
and  he  returned  to  it  because,  if  he  were  absent 
for  a  few  days,  an  engagingly  amiable  note  compelled 
him  to  do  so. 

Besides,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
return  to  it.  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  received  the  best  of 
society  and  he  occasionally  met  there  friends  whom  it 
would  not  have  been  quite  so  convenient  to  seek  out 
in  the  busy  life  of  Paris. 


5i 


SPI  RITE 


"  You  seem  a  little  out  of  sorts,"  said  Malivert  to 
the  Countess  ;  "did  your  green  tea  give  you  a  sleepless 
night  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed.  I  put  so  much  cream  into  it  that  it 
loses  all  its  strength.  Besides  I  am  the  Mithridates  of 
tea ;  it  has  ceased  to  affect  me.  The  truth  is,  I  am 
annoyed." 

"  Have  I  come  at  the  wrong  time,  or  have  I  upset 
some  of  your  plans  ?  In  that  case  I  hasten  to  with- 
draw, and  we  can  take  it  that  finding  you  were  out  I 
left  my  card  at  your  lodge-gate." 

"  You  are  not  the  least  in  the  way,  and  you  know 
very  well  that  it  is  always  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see 
you,"  answered  the  Countess.  "  Your  visits,  though 
I  ought  not  to  say  it,  even  seem  to  me  rather 
infrequent,  though  others  are  not  of  the  same  opinion." 

"Yet  you  are  unencumbered  with  troublesome 
relatives,  talkative  uncles,  and  chaperon  aunts  who 
embroider  in  the  window  recess.  Kind  nature  has 
relieved  you  of  the  collection  of  disagreeable  relatives 
who  too  often  surround  a  pretty  woman,  and  has 
left  you  their  inheritances  only.  You  may  receive 
whom  you  please,  for  you  are  not  dependent  on  any 
one." 


52 


SPIRITE 


"That  is  true,"  replied  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt.  "I 
do  not  depend  on  any  one,  yet  I  am  responsible  to 
every  one.  A  woman  is  never  wholly  or  really  free, 
even  when  a  widow  and  apparently  mistress  of  her 
actions.  A  whole  police  force  of  interested  people  sur- 
rounds and  watches  her,  and  interferes  in  her  affairs. 
So,  my  dear  Guy,  you  compromise  me." 

"  I  ?  — compromise  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Malivert  with 
sincere  surprise,  that  betokened  a  modesty  quite  uncom- 
mon in  young  men  not  over  twenty-eight  years  of  age, 
who  have  their  clothes  made  by  Renouard  and  send  to 
England  for  their  trousers.  "  Why  should  I  compro- 
mise you,  rather  than  d'Aversac,  Beaumont,  Janowski, 
and  de  Feroe,  each  and  all  of  whom  are  exceedingly 
attentive  to  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you,"  replied  the 
Countess.  "  Perhaps  without  knowing  it  you  are  a 
dangerous  man,  or  society  has  perceived  in  you  some 
power  of  which  you  are  yourself  ignorant.  None  of 
the  names  you  have  mentioned  have  been  connected 
with  mine ;  people  seem  to  think  it  quite  natural  that 
these  gentlemen  should  call  on  me  on  my  dav  at  home, 
that  they  should  call  every  now  and  then  between  five 
and  six  on  their  return  from  the  Bois,  and  should  drop 


53 


kkkkkk  kk  kkk kkkkkkk k k kkk£ 

SPI RITE 


in  on  me  in  my  box  at  the  Bouffes  or  the  Opera.  But 
these  very  actions,  innocent  in  themselves,  assume, 
it  appears,  when  performed  by  you,  a  tremendous 
meaning." 

"  And  yet  I  am  the  steadiest  fellow  in  the  world, 
and  have  never  given  cause  for  gossip.  I  do  not  wear 
a  blue  frock  coat  like  Werther,  nor  a  slashed  doublet 
like  Don  Juan.  No  one  has  ever  surprised  me  playing 
the  guitar  under  a  balcony ;  I  never  go  to  the  races  in 
a  four-in-hand  with  questionable  women  in  loud  dresses, 
and  never,  at  any  evening  party,  do  I  discuss  senti- 
mental questions  in  the  presence  of  pretty  women  for 
the  purpose  of  drawing  attention  to  the  purity  and 
delicacy  of  my  feelings.  I  am  never  seen  posing 
against  a  pillar,  one  hand  in  my  vest,  gazing  in 
silence,  with  a  sombre,  woebegone  look,  at  some  fair 
girl  with  long  ringlets,  like  Alfred  de  Vigny's  Kitty 
Bell.  Nor  do  I  wear  hair  rings,  or  a  sachet  round  my 
neck  in  which  I  preserve  Parma  violets  given  me  by 
4  her.'  My  most  secret  drawers  might  be  searched 
without  a  single  portrait  of  a  fair  or  a  dark  beauty 
being  found  in  them  ;  nor  even  a  bundle  of  scented 
notes  tied  with  ribbon  or  a  rubber  band  ;  not  even  an 
embroidered  slipper,  a  mask  edged  with  lace,  or  any  of 


54 


SPIRITE 


the  trifles  which  compose  the  secret  collections  of 
lovers.    Frankly,  do  I  look  like  a  lady-killer  ?  " 

"You  are  very  modest,"  replied  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court,  "  or  else  you  are  trying  to  make  out  that  you 
are  very  artless.  Unfortunately,  everybody  does  not 
agree  with  you.  Objection  is  raised  to  the  attentions 
you  pay  me,  although  for  my  part  I  see  nothing  to 
object  to  in  them.''' 

"  In  that  case,"  returned  Malivert,  "  I  shall  call  less 
frequently.  I  shall  not  come  more  than  once  a  fort- 
night or  once  a  month,  and  then  I  shall  start  on  a 
trip.  But  positively  I  do  not  know  where  to  go.  I 
have  been  to  Spain,  Italy,  Russia,  Germany.  Well,  I 
might  go  to  Greece,  for  it  is  considered  sinful  not  to 
have  seen  Athens,  the  Acropolis  and  the  Parthenon.  I 
could  go  by  way  of  Marseilles  or  board  an  Austrian 
Lloyds'  steamer  at  Trieste.  They  call  at  Corfu,  and 
on  the  way  one  sees  Ithaca  soli  occidenti  bene  objacentem, 
basking  in  the  setting  sun  now  as  in  the  days  of  Homer. 
They  go  to  the  head  of  the  Gulf  of  Lepanto.  Then 
you  cross  the  Isthmus,  and  you  can  see  the  remains  of 
Corinth,  which  not  every  one  was  allowed  to  enter. 
You  get  on  board  another  steamer  and  in  a  few  hours 
you  reach  the  Piraeus.    Beaumont  told  me  all  about  it. 


55 


SPIRITE 


He  started  a  fanatical  Romanticist,  but  he  got  metope 
on  the  brain  there  and  will  not  hear  of  cathedrals  now. 
He  has  turned  into  a  confirmed  Classicist,  and  maintains 
that  since  the  days  of  the  Greeks  humanity  has  gone 
back  to  barbarism  and  that  our  boasted  civilisation  is 
but  a  form  of  decadence." 

Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  did  not  feel  particularly  flattered 
by  this  lyrical  outburst  of  geographical  knowledge,  and 
thought  Malivert  was  much  too  ready  to  avoid  compro- 
mising her.  She  did  not  desire  him  to  care  for  her 
reputation  by  running  away. 

"  No  one  wants  you  to  go  to  Greece,"  she  said. 
And,  with  a  faint  blush  and  an  imperceptible  trembling 
of  the  voice,  "  Is  there  not  a  simpler  way  of  putting 
an  end  to  all  this  gossip  than  leaving  your  friends  and 
venturing  into  a  country  that  is  by  no  means  safe, 
if  we  are  to  believe  Edmond  About's  1  King  of  the 
Mountains  '  ?  " 

Fearing  lest  she  had  spoken  too  plainly,  the  Coun- 
tess flushed  more  deeply  than  before.  Her  breath 
came  quick  and  short,  and  made  the  jet  ornaments  on 
her  bodice  glitter  and  rustle;  regaining  her  courage, 
she  looked  at  Malivert  with  eyes  that  a  touch  of  emo- 
tion made  absolutely  beautiful.    She  loved  Guy,  her 


56 


•4««4*  »A»  rjj  rJU  »A»  miy%  *b  rL%  «X»  rX-i  elj  *|j  yj*  rjt  m£*  »lj  jf^tlj 

SPI RITE 


silent  admirer,  as  much  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to  love 
any  one.  She  liked  the  neat  yet  careless  way  in  which 
he  tied  his  cravat,  and  with  the  deep  logic  of  women, 
a  logic  the  deductions  of  which  are  often  unintelligible 
to  the  subtlest  of  philosophers,  she  had  inferred  from 
that  tie  that  Malivert  possessed  all  the  qualities  needed 
in  an  excellent  husband.  The  trouble  was  that  the 
intended  husband  was  strolling  very  slowly  indeed 
towards  the  altar  and  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  light  the 
hymeneal  torches. 

Guy  perfectly  understood  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's 
meaning,  but  he  more  than  ever  dreaded  uttering  im- 
prudent words  that  might  bind  him,  so  he  answered  : 
"  No  doubt,  no  doubt ;  a  trip  breaks  off  matters  com- 
pletely, and  when  one  returns  it  is  easier  to  see  what 
should  be  done." 

On  hearing  this  cold  and  indefinite  reply  the  Countess 
allowed  a  gesture  of  annoyance  to  escape  her,  and  bit 
her  lips.  Guy,  very  much  embarrassed,  kept  silence, 
and  the  situation  was  becoming  unbearable  when  the 
footman  relieved  the  strain  by  announcing  Baron  de 
Feroe. 


57 


SPIRITE 


IV 

ON  seeing  the  Swedish  baron  enter,  Malivert 
uttered  an  irrepressible  sigh  of  content,  and 
cast  a  look  of  gratitude  at  M.  de  Feroe,  for 
he  had  never  been  so  glad  to  see  any  one.  But  for 
this  opportune  interruption  Guy  would  have  found 
himself  in  a  very  embarrassing  position.  He  was 
bound  to  answer  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  plainly,  and  yet 
he  hated  nothing  so  much  as  formal  explanations  ;  he 
always  preferred  to  act  rather  than  promise,  and  even 
in  matters  of  little  moment  he  was  very  wary  of  pledg- 
ing himself  in  any  way.  The  glance  which  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  cast  upon  the  visitor  was  not  as  kindly 
as  Malivert's,  and  did  not  good  breeding  teach  dissimu- 
lation, reproach,  impatience,  and  anger  might  easily 
have  been  read  in  her  look.  The  Baron's  unseason- 
able intrusion  deprived  her  of  an  opportunity  that 
would  not  soon  recur  and  that  her  self-respect  would 
scarcely  allow  her  to  bring  about,  for  it  was  certain 
that  Guy  would  not  seek  it,  and,  indeed  would  carefully 


58 


SPIRITE 


avoid  it.  Although  on  most  occasions  Guy  was  a  man 
of  resolution  and  courage,  he  dreaded  any  step  that 
might  settle  his  life  in  any  way.  He  was  talented 
enough  to  succeed  in  any  career,  but  he  had  deliberately 
avoided  making  any  choice  lest  it  should  prove  to  be 
the  wrong  one.  He  was  not  known  to  entertain  any 
attachment  for  any  woman ;  though  the  habit  he  had 
got  into  of  calling  frequently  on  the  Countess  had  led 
to  the  supposition  that  the  pair  were  thinking  of  mar- 
riage. He  mistrusted  any  kind  of  bond  or  obligation, 
and  it  seemed  as  though,  urged  by  a  secret  instinct,  he 
was  trying  to  keep  himself  free  for  some  future  event. 

After  having  exchanged  a  few  preliminary  common- 
places, chords  forming  a  prelude  to  conversation,  like 
those  struck  on  the  piano  before  beginning  a  piece, 
Baron  de  Feroe,  by  a  transition  of  the  kind  that  in  a 
couple  of  sentences  make  you  pass  from  the  fall  of 
Nineveh  to  the  last  win  of  "  Gladiator,"  entered  upon 
an  esthetic  and  transcendental  dissertation  on  Wag- 
ner's most  abstruse  operas,  —  "The  Flying  Dutchman," 
"  Lohengrin,"  "  Tristan  and  Isolde."  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court,  although  a  remarkable  pianist,  did  not  under- 
stand music,  and  especially  such  deep,  mysterious, 
complex  music  as  Wagner's,  whose  "  Tannhauser " 


59 


k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  tfc  :fe  £  4;  k  k  tt:  4? 

SPI RITE 


gave  rise  to  such  fierce  discussions  in  France.  While 
working  at  a  strip  of  embroidery  she  had  taken  from 
a  basket  placed  near  the  arm-chair  she  usually  occu- 
pied, she  replied  from  time  to  time  to  the  enthusiastic 
analyses  of  the  Baron,  urging  the  commonplace  objec- 
tions always  brought  up  against  any  new  form  of  music, 
and  which  were  once  made  to  Rossini's  compositions 
as  well  as  to  Wagner's,  such  as  lack  of  rhythm  and  of 
melody,  obscurity,  excessive  use  of  brass  instruments, 
inextricably  complicated  orchestration,  deafening  noise, 
and  finally  the  material  impossibility  of  performing  the 
compositions. 

"  Your  discussion  is  too  deep  for  me,  who  am  simply 
an  ignoramus  in  the  matter  of  music.  I  am  moved 
by  what  strikes  me  as  beautiful ;  I  admire  Beethoven 
and  even  Verdi,  though  it  is  no  longer  fashionable  to 
do  so,  now  that  one  has  to  be  a  partisan,  as  in  the  days 
of  the  rivalry  between  Gluck  and  Piccini,  when  one 
had  to  elect  to  side  with  the  King  or  with  the  Queen. 
So  I  shall  leave  you  two  to  fight  it  out,  for  I  cannot 
throw  any  light  on  the  question,  and  at  most  I  can  put 
in  a  Hem!  Hem!  like  the  Minorite  whom  Moliere 
and  Chapelle  chose  for  arbiter  in  a  discussion  on  a 
point  in  philosophy." 

6o 


SPIRITE 


With  these  words  Guy  de  Malivert  rose  to  take 
leave  and  shook  hands  with  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt, 
whose  glance  said,  as  plainly  as  feminine  reserve  per- 
mitted, "  Stay,"  and  followed  him  to  the  door  with 
a  sadness  that  would  no  doubt  have  touched  him  had 
he  seen  it;  but  Guy's  attention  was  engrossed  by  the 
quietly  imperious  expression  of  the  Swede,  which 
seemed  to  say :  "  Do  not  again  expose  yourself  to 
the  peril  from  which  I  have  rescued  you." 

When  he  found  himself  in  the  street,  he  thought, 
with  some  feeling  of  dread,  of  the  supernatural  warning 
he  had  received  as  he  was  about  to  enter  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt's  house,  and  of  the  call  made  by  Baron 
de  Feroe,  a  call  which  coincided  in  the  most  singular 
way  with  Guy's  disregard  of  the  mysterious  warning. 
The  Baron  seemed  to  have  been  sent  to  his  assistance 
by  the  occult  powers  of  whose  presence  around  him  he 
was  vaguely  conscious.  Although  Guy  de  Malivert 
was  not  systematically  incredulous  or  sceptical,  he  yet 
found  it  hard  to  bring  himself  to  believe  in  spirit  influ- 
ences, and  he  had  never  indulged  in  the  fantasies  of 
table-turning  and  spirit-rapping.  He  felt  indeed  a  sort 
of  repulsion  for  experiments  intended  to  exploit  the 

marvellous,  and  he  had  refused  to  go  to  see  the  famous 
_ 


-\-  ^     »J-.  JU  »£«  »i»  » U  ^<j^^»j«»l»»iwi^4<>i^cj<i4.  »|» 

SPIRITE 


Home,  whom  all  Paris  went  crazy  over  for  a  season. 
Until  the  previous  evening  he  had  led  a  careless 
bachelor  life,  fairly  satisfied  on  the  whole  with  being 
alive,  and  feeling  that  he  was  cutting  by  no  means  a 
bad  figure  in  the  world;  thinking  of  material  things 
only,  and  not  troubling  to  ascertain  whether  or  not  the 
earth  carried  with  it,  in  its  daily  circling  round  the  sun, 
a  world  peopled  with  invisible  and  impalpable  beings. 
But  he  was  compelled  to  own  to  himself  that  a  change 
had  come  over  his  life ;  that  a  new  element,  unsought 
by  him,  was  seeking  to  enter  into  his  hitherto  peaceful 
existence,  from  which  he  had  carefully  excluded  all 
possible  disturbing  causes.  So  far  it  was  not  much  :  a 
sigh  as  soft  as  the  breathing  of  an  ^olian  harp,  a 
thought  substituted  for  his  own  in  a  letter  written 
mechanically,  a  word  or  two  whispered  in  his  ear,  his 
meeting  with  a  solemn,  mysterious-looking  Sweden- 
borgian  Baron.  It  was  plain,  nevertheless,  that  a  spirit 
was  circling  round  him  qucerens  quern  devoret,  as  the 
eternal  wisdom  of  the  Bible  has  it. 

While  thus  ruminating  Guy  de  Malivert  had  reached 
the  great  open  space  in  the  Champs-Elysees  without 
having  in  the  least  intended  to  go  in  that  direction  rather 
than  in  any  other.     His  body  had  borne  him  thither, 


62 


SPIRITE 


and  he  had  allowed  it  to  have  its  way.  There  were 
not  many  people  there.  A  few  of  those  obstinate  per- 
sons who  insist  —  for  hygienic  reasons — on  exercising 
at  all  times  of  the  year,  and  who  cut  holes  in  the  ice  in 
order  to  get  their  bath,  were  returning  from  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  their  noses  blue  and  their  cheeks  purple  with 
cold,  riding  horses  with  kneecaps.  Two  or  three  of 
them  waved  a  greeting  to  Guy,  and  he  even  received, 
though  he  was  on  foot,  a  gracious  smile  from  a  lady  in 
an  open  carriage,  and  wrapped  in  costly  Russian  furs. 

"  As  I  happen  to  be  the  whole  of  the  public,  my 
attention  and  admiration  are  worth  having,"  thought 
Malivert.  "  In  summer  I  should  not  have  received 
such  a  bow.  But  what  am  I  doing  here  ?  This  is  not 
the  time  of  year  to  dine  in  an  arbour  with  some  lively 
girl,  and  besides  I  do  not  feel  particularly  gay.  All 
the  same  the  sun  is  setting  behind  the  Arc  de  l'Etoile, 
and  it  is  time  to  think  of  satisfying  the  inner  man." 

Malivert  was  right.  The  great  arch  of  the  Trium- 
phal Gate  framed  in  a  mass  of  clouds  heaped  up  in 
strange  fashion,  their  edges  brilliant  with  a  foam  of 
light.  The  evening  breeze,  as  it  set  them  in  motion, 
imparted  to  them  a  sort  of  life,  and  it  would  have  been 
easy  to  make  out  figures  and  groups  in  the  dark  mass 


63 


ieierkis  4:  -k  & &  4: 5tr"i:^sl?tlrti?abtfctbdbtfc5lr  £  sfctst 

SPIRITE 


of  vapours  through  which  flashed  the  sunbeams,  just  as 
in  those  drawings  of  Dore's  where  the  fancies  that  fill 
the  minds  of  the  characters  are  reflected  on  the  clouds, 
making  the  Wandering  Jew  see  Christ  toiling  up 
Calvary,  and  Don  Quixote  behold  knights  tilting  with 
enchanters.  Malivert  thought  he  saw  angels  with  great 
wings  of  flame  soaring  over  a  swarming  multitude  of 
indistinct  beings  that  moved  to  and  fro  on  a  bank  of 
black  clouds,  like  a  sombre  promontory  jutting  out 
into  a  phosphorescent  sea.  Occasionally  one  of  the 
lower  figures  broke  away  from  its  companions  and  rose 
towards  the  lighted  regions,  traversing  the  red  disk  of 
the  sun.  On  reaching  the  higher  spheres,  it  flew  for  a 
moment  by  the  side  of  one  of  the  angels  and  then 
melted  into  the  universal  glow.  No  doubt  fancy  had 
much  to  do  with  the  ever  changing  combinations,  and 
of  a  cloud  picture  may  be  said,  in  the  words  of  Ham- 
let to  Polonius :  "  Do  you  see  yonder  cloud  that 's 
almost  in  shape  of  a  camel  ?  .  .  .  Or  like  a  whale  ?  " 
And  in  either  case  one  may  answer  affirmatively,  with- 
out necessarily  being  an  imbecile  courtier. 

Night  coming  on  put  an  end  to  the  vaporous  fanci- 
fulness,  and  the  gas  lamps,  as  they  were  lighted,  soon 
traced,  from  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  to  the  Arc  de 


64 


tjc  tir  *'-''  Tt?    db    'J?    ^4>^4i4*4iji  tt?ib  db  w  tl» 

SPIRITE 

l'Etoile,  the  two  lines  of  fire,  so  magical  in  effect, 
which  delight  the  wondering  strangers  who  enter  Paris 
at  night  by  that  triumphal  avenue.  Guy  hailed  a  pass- 
ing cab,  on  the  look-out  for  a  fare,  and  had  himself 
driven  to  the  rue  de  Choiseul,  where  his  club  was  situ- 
ated. Leaving  his  overcoat  to  the  care  of  the  liveried 
servants  in  the  vestibule,  he  glanced  over  the  book  in 
which  members  put  down  their  names  for  dinner,  and 
noted  with  satisfaction  that  it  contained  Baron  de 
Feroe's.  He  wrote  his  own  below,  traversed  the  bil- 
liard room,  where  the  marker  was  sadly  waiting  until  it 
should  please  some  one  to  indulge  in  a  game,  and 
several  other  high-ceiled  rooms,  spacious  and  furnished 
with  every  modern  comfort,  —  the  temperature  kept  at 
an  even  warmth  by  a  huge  furnace,  though  great  logs 
blazed  on  the  monumental  andirons  within  the  vast 
fireplaces.  Four  or  five  members  were  idling  on  the 
divans,  or  leaning  on  the  green  reading-table  and  glanc- 
ing through  the  papers  and  reviews,  arranged  methodi- 
cally and  continually  being  disarranged.  Two  or  three 
were  writing  love  letters  or  business  notes  on  the  club 
stationery. 

It  was  near  the  dinner  hour,  and  the  guests  were 
chatting  together  until  the  butler  should  announce  that 


5 


65 


SP  I  RITE 


the  meal  was  served.  Guy  began  to  fear  that  Baron 
de  Feroe*  was  not  coming,  but  as  he  passed  into  the 
dining-room,  the  Baron  arrived  and  sat  down  by  him. 
The  dinner,  served  with  a  wealth  of  glass  ware  and 
silver  plate,  was  distinctly  good,  and  each  man  washed 
it  down  with  his  own  particular  tipple,  some  with 
claret,  others  with  champagne,  others  again  with  pale 
ale,  according  to  individual  habit  or  caprice.  A  few, 
of  English  tastes,  called  for  a  glass  of  sherry  or  port, 
which  tall  waiters  in  knee  breeches  brought  ceremoni- 
ously upon  silver  salvers,  marked  with  the  club  mono- 
gram. Every  man  drank  to  his  liking,  without  troubling 
about  his  neighbour,  for  at  the  club  every  man  is  at 
home. 

Contrary  to  his  custom,  Guy  did  not  do  honour  to 
the  dinner.  He  left  the  dishes  scarcely  tasted  and  the 
bottle  of  Chateau-Margaux  in  front  of  him  was  being 
very  slowly  emptied. 

"  The  white  angel  could  not  say  to  you,"  remarked 
Baron  de  Feroe,  "  as  he  did  one  day  to  Swedenborg, 
'You  are  eating  too  much,'  for  you  are  uncommonly 
abstemious  to-night,  and  it  might  be  thought  that 
you  are  trying  to  attain  to  the  spiritual  state  by 
fasting." 


66 


db  db  db  sb  db  db  4?  :b  :b  db  tb  4?  db  tb  db  db  tb  tb  db  tb  dl?  tb  tb  db 

SPIRITE 


"  I  do  not  know  whether  a  few  mouthfuls  more  or 
less  would  free  my  soul  from  its  material  envelope," 
answered  Guy,  "  and  tend  to  make  more  diaphanous 
the  veils  that  separate  the  visible  from  the  invisible, 
but  whatever  the  reason,  I  do  not  feel  much  appetite. 
Certain  circumstances  you  appear  to  be  acquainted 
with  have,  I  confess,  astonished  me  somewhat  since 
yesterday  and  caused  me  to  be  more  absent-minded 
than  is  my  wont.  Normally  I  am  not  usually  preoc- 
cupied at  meals,  but  to-day  other  thoughts  master  me 
in  spite  of  myself.  Have  you  any  engagements  this 
evening,  Baron  ?  If  you  have  nothing  better  to  do,  I 
propose  that  we  smoke  together  after  dinner  in  the 
music  room,  where  we  shall  not  be  disturbed,  unless 
the  fancy  strikes  some  of  our  fellow-members  to  pound 
on  the  piano, — which  is  not  at  all  likely,  for  our  musi- 
cal friends  are  all  away  to-night  at  the  dress  rehearsal 
of  the  new  opera." 

Baron  de  Feroe  courteously  agreed  to  Malivert's 
suggestion,  and  politely  replied  that  no  better  way 
could  be  devised  of  passing  the  time.  So  the  two 
gentlemen  settled  themselves  on  the  couch  and  started 
to  puff  clouds  of  smoke  from  excellent  cigars  of  la 
Vuelta  de  Abajo,  each  of  them  mentally  thinking  of  the 


67 


SPI  RITE 


curious  conversation  which  could  not  be  put  off  long. 
After  a  few  remarks  on  the  quality  of  the  cigars  they 
were  smoking,  and  on  the  respective  merits  of  strong 
and  mild,  the  Swedish  Baron  himself  opened  the  sub- 
ject that  Malivert  was  dying  to  enter  upon. 

"  First,"  he  said,  "  I  must  apologise  for  the  liberty  I 
took  in  warning  you  in  mysterious  fashion  the  other 
evening  at  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's,  for  as  you  had  not 
confided  in  me  it  was  in  a  way  indiscreet  in  me  to 
penetrate  your  thoughts  before  you  had  spoken.  You 
may  be  sure  I  should  not  have  done  so  —  for  it  is  not 
my  habit  to  abandon  my  part  as  a  man  of  the  world  and 
to  take  up  that  of  wizard  —  had  you  not  inspired  me 
with  a  lively  interest,  and  had  I  not  been  made  aware, 
by  signs  perceptible  to  adepts  alone,  that  you  had 
recently  been  visited  by  a  spirit,  or  at  least  that  the 
invisible  world  was  seeking  to  enter  into  relations  with 
you." 

Guy  hastened  to  say  that  he  had  not  been  in  the 
least  offended  by  the  Baron,  and  that,  indeed,  in  the 
novel  situation  in  which  he  found  himself,  he  was  only 
too  glad  to  have  found  a  guide  apparently  so  well 
informed  in  matters  supernatural,  and  whose  seriousness 
of  disposition  was  so  well  known  to  him. 


68 


SPI RITE 


"  You  readily  understand,"  said  the  Baron,  with  a 
slight  bow  by  way  of  .thanks,  "  that  I  do  not  easily 
break  through  my  reserve,  but  you  have  perhaps  seen 
enough  no  longer  to  believe  that  our  senses  suffice  to 
inform  us  of  everything,  and  I  do  not  fear,  therefore, 
that  you  will  take  me,  if  our  conversation  should  turn 
upon  such  mysterious  subjects,  for  a  visionary  or  one  of 
the  illuminati.  My  position  is  a  guarantee  that  I  am 
not  a  charlatan  and,  besides,  the  world  knows  my  outer 
life  only.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  what  has  happened 
in  your  case,  but  I  perceive  that  in  the  sphere  beyond 
that  of  ordinary  life  an  interest  is  being  taken  in  you." 

"Yes,"  answered  Guy  de  Malivert,  "there  is  some- 
thing indefinable  floating  around  me,  and  I  do  not 
think  I  am  indiscreet,  as  far  as  the  spirits,  with  which 
you  appear  to  be  on  an  excellent  footing,  are  con- 
cerned, if  I  tell  you  in  detail,  what  your  superhuman 
intuition  has  enabled  you  to  divine." 

Thereupon  Guy  related  to  the  Baron  the  extraordi- 
nary events  which  had  marked  the  previous  evening. 

The  Swedish  nobleman,  twisting  his  blond  moustache 
the  while,  listened  to  him  with  extreme  attention,  but 
without  manifesting  the  least  surprise.  He  remained 
silent  for  a  time  and  seemed  buried  in  thought.  Then, 


69 


SP1RITE 


as  if  the  words  summed  up  a  series  of  reflections,  he 
suddenly  said  to  Guy  :  — 

"  M.  de  Malivert,  did  a  young  girl  ever  break  her 
heart  on  your  account  ?  " 

"  Neither  girl  nor  woman  ever  did,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware  at  least,"  replied  Malivert.  "  I  am  not  con- 
ceited enough  to  suppose  myself  capable  of  inspiring 
so  great  a  passion.  My  love  affairs,  if  a  kiss  care- 
lessly given  and  carelessly  received,  may  be  dignified 
by  such  a  name,  have  been  of  the  most  peaceful  and 
least  romantic  character,  and  ended  as  easily  as  they 
began.  Indeed,  in  order  to  avoid  pathetic  scenes, 
which  I  have  a  horror  of,  I  have  always  so  managed 
matters  as  to  be  betrayed  and  abandoned,  my  self- 
love  being  very  ready  to  make  that  sacrifice  to  my 
repose  of  mind.  So  I  fancy  I  have  not  left  behind 
me  in  life  many  disconsolate  Ariadnes  ;  in  our  Parisian 
mythology,  the  arrival  of  Bacchus  invariably  precedes 
the  departure  of  Theseus.  Besides,  even  at  the  risk 
of  giving  you  but  a  poor  opinion  of  mv  power  of  lov- 
ing, I  must  own  that  I  have  never  felt  for  any  one  that 
mad,  exclusive,  all-absorbing  passion  of  which  every- 
body speaks  without  having  experienced  it  perhaps. 
No  woman  has  ever  inspired  me  with  the  desire  to 


70 


S  P  I  R  I  T  E 


attach  her  to  myself  by  an  indissoluble  bond  or  made 
me  dream  of  two  lives  blended  into  one,  or  wish  to 
flee  with  her  to  that  paradise  of  azure,  light,  and 
beauty  which  love,  it  is  said,  can  create  even  in  a  hut 
or  an  attic." 

"  It  does  not  follow,  my  dear  Guy,  that  you  are  un- 
able to  feel  passionate  love.  There  are  many  varieties 
of  love,  and  no  doubt,  in  the  place  where  the  fate  of 
souls  is  settled  upon,  you  have  been  reserved  to  higher 
destinies.  But  you  have  still  time,  for  spirits  have  no 
power  over  us  save  by  our  free  consent.  You  are 
standing  on  the  threshold  of  a  boundless,  deep,  myste- 
rious world,  full  of  illusions  and  shadows,  wherein  con- 
tend influences  for  good  or  evil  which  a  man  must 
learn  to  distinguish.  In  that  world  are  to  be  seen 
wonders  and  terrors  fit  to  upset  human  reason. 
No  one  ever  returns  from  its  depths  without  bearing 
on  his  brow  a  pallor  that  time  can  never  efface ;  the 
carnal  eye  cannot  behold  with  impunity  the  things 
reserved  for  spiritual  sight  alone;  these  excursions 
beyond  the  material  world  are  paid  for  by  inexpressible 
fatigue  and  inspire  at  the  same  time  desperate  nostalgia. 
Stay  your  feet  at  that  dread  bourne ;  do  not  pass  from 
this  world  into  the  other,  and  do  not  yield  to  the  call 


7 


SPI R ITE 


that  seeks  to  draw  you  beyond  the  bounds  of  material 
life.  The  enchanter  is  safe  within  the  circle  he  traces 
around  him  and  which  the  spirits  cannot  cross.  Let 
reality  be  to  you  as  that  circle ;  do  not  overpass  it,  or 
you  will  lose  your  power.  You  see  that,  though  I  am 
a  hierophant,  I  do  not  indulge  in  proselytism." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  Malivert,  "  that  I  should  run 
the  risk  of  perilous  adventures  in  that  invisible  world 
by  which  we  are  surrounded,  and  which  reveals  its  exist- 
ence to  but  a  small  number  of  privileged  beings  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  the  Baron  de  Feroe. 
"  Nothing  that  the  eye  of  the  flesh  can  note  will 
happen  to  you,  but  your  soul  may  remain  for  ever 
deeply  troubled." 

"  Is  the  spirit,  then,  which  does  me  the  honour  to 
concern  itself  with  me  of  a  dangerous  character  ?  " 

"  It  is  sympathetic,  kindly,  and  loving.  I  have  met 
it  in  the  radiance  of  light.  But  heaven  gives  the 
vertigo  as  does  the  abyss.  Remember  the  story  of 
the  shepherd  that  loved  a  star." 

"  Yet,"  replied  Malivert,  "  what  you  said  to  me  at 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's  seemed  to  be  a  warning  against 
any  terrestrial  entanglement." 

"I  was  bound  to  warn  you,"  returned  the  Baron  de 


72 


SPI  R  ITE 


Feroe,  "in  the  event  of  your  answering  the  manifesta- 
tions of  that  spirit,  but  since  you  have  not  as  yet  done 
so,  you  are  still  your  own  master.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  best  for  you  to  remain  in  that  condition  and  to  lead 
your  old  life." 

"  And  marry  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,"  put  in  Guy  de 
Malivert  with  an  ironical  smile. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  Baron  de  Feroe.  "  She  is 
young,  beautiful,  and  loves  you  ;  I  read  in  her  glance 
the  genuine  grief  your  veiled  refusal  caused  her.  She 
might  possibly  acquire  a  soul." 

"That  is  a  risk  I  do  not  choose  to  run.  Pray  do 
not  endeavour,  dear  Baron,  through  a  kindly  feeling 
which  I  quite  understand,  to  tie  me  down  to  material 
life.  I  am  more  detached  from  it  than  may  appear  at 
first  sight.  The  fact  that  I  have  ordered  my  days  in 
pleasant  and  convenient  fashion  does  not  involve 
sensuality  on  my  part.  At  bottom,  comfort  is  a  mat- 
ter of  indifference  to  me.  If  I  have  thought  it  best  to 
appear  careless  and  joyous  rather  than  to  affect  a 
romantic  melancholy,  which  is  in  very  bad  taste,  it 
does  not  follow  that  the  world  as  I  find  it  delights  and 
satisfies  me.  It  is  quite  true  that  I  do  not  maunder,  in 
drawing-rooms,  and  in  presence  of  an  assembly  of 


73 


SPI RITE 


pretentious  women,  about  my  heart,  or  the  ideal,  or 
the  passion  of  love,  but  I  have  kept  my  soul  true  and 
unstained,  unspotted  by  any  vulgar  love,  in  the  ex- 
pectation of  the  coming  of  the  unknown  deity." 

While  Malivert  spoke  thus,  with  more  earnestness 
than  men  of  the  world  usually  display,  the  eyes  of 
Baron  de  Feroe  lighted  up  and  his  face  assumed  an 
expression  of  enthusiasm  which  he  generally  concealed 
under  a  mask  of  icy  indifference. 

He  was  pleased  to  see  that  Guy  resisted  prosaic 
temptation  and  maintained  his  spiritual  will. 

"  Since  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  my  dear  Guy, 
return  home,  and  you  will  no  doubt  receive  some 
new  communications.  I  have  to  stay  ;  I  won  a  hun- 
dred louis  yesterday  from  d'Aversac,  and  I  am  going  to 
give  him  his  revenge." 

"  The  rehearsal  must  be  over,  for  I  hear  our  friends 
returning  and  humming,  very  much  out  of  tune,  the 
airs  they  have  failed  to  catch." 

"Away  with  you,  then;  the  discord  would  throw 
your  soul  out  of  harmony." 

Guy  shook  hands  with  the  Baron,  and  entered  his 
carriage,  which  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  door  of  the 
club-house. 


74 


SPI  RITE 


V 

GUY  DE  MALIVERT  returned  home,  his 
mind  made  up  to  run  the  venture.  Though 
he  did  not  appear  to  be  romantic,  neverthe- 
less he  was  so,  but  his  proud,  shy  reserve  led  him  to 
conceal  his  feelings,  and  he  did  not  expect  of  others 
more  than  he  was  willing  to  give  himself.  His  rela- 
tions with  society  were  pleasantly  indifferent  and  in  no 
way  binding  upon  him  ;  they  were  bonds  that  he  could 
easily  cast  off  at  any  moment,  but  it  can  be  readily 
understood  that  he  dreamed  of  a  happiness  which  until 
now  he  had  never  experienced. 

Acting  upon  what  Baron  de  Feroe  had  told  him  at 
the  club  about  the  need  of  exercising  his  will  in  order 
to  summon  the  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep  to  the  con- 
fines of  our  own  world,  Malivert  concentrated  all  his 
powers  within  himself  and  mentally  formulated  his 
desire  to  enter  into  more  direct  communication  with 
the  mysterious  spirit  that  he  felt  around  him  and 
that  would  not,  in  all  likelihood,  prove  very  restive, 


75 


«4*  jl*   *4»  'i»      rt»  j»  ti?  ~»  mh  dir«fc  tfe  djjjb  «j?tfetj?  ife  tfest 

SPIRITE 

since  it  had  of  its  own  accord  attempted  to  manifest 
itself. 

Having  done  this,  Malivert,  who  was  in  the  room, 
half  studio,  half  drawing-room,  in  which  he  was  sitting 
at  the  beginning  of  this  story,  applied  himself  to  listen 
and  watch  with  the  utmost  attention.  At  first  he 
neither  saw  nor  heard  anything,  though  the  furniture, 
the  statuettes,  the  pictures,  the  old  carved  dressers,  the 
exotic  curiosities,  the  trophies  of  weapons,  struck  him 
as  having  an  unusual  and  extraordinary  aspect,  and 
a  sort  of  fantastic  lifelike  appearance  due  to  the  lights 
and  shadows  cast  upon  them  by  the  lamp.  A  Chinese 
grotesque  of  jade  stone  seemed  to  grin  to  the  ears  like 
an  old  man  in  his  dotage,  and  a  copy  of  the  Venus  of 
Milo,  her  pointed  breasts  standing  out  strongly  in  the 
light  that  fell  on  them  against  a  dark  background, 
assumed  a  disdainful  look  as  she  swelled  her  nostrils 
and  drew  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Both  the 
Chinese  god  and  the  Greek  goddess  disapproved  of 
Malivert's  undertaking,  or  at  least  the  expression  on 
the  two  lighted  faces  might  have  led  him  to  believe 
this.  Unconsciously  Malivert's  eyes,  as  if  urged  by  a 
mental  impulse,  turned  towards  a  Venetian  mirror  sus- 
pended on  the  Cordova  leather  tapestry. 


76 


SPI  RI  TE 


It  was  an  eighteenth-century  mirror,  like  those  com- 
monly seen  in  Loughi's  "Lady  at  her  Toilet"  and 
"  Leaving  for  the  Ball,"  subjects  often  painted  by  that 
decadent  Watteau,  and  like  those  to  be  found  in  the 
shops  of  second-hand  dealers  in  the  Ghetto.  The 
glass  itself  was  bevelled  ;  the  frame  was  composed  of 
ornaments  in  cut  glass,  surmounted  by  a  mass  of  scrolls 
and  flowers  in  the  same  material,  which,  against  the 
uniform  tint  of  the  background,  sometimes  resembled 
mat  silver,  sometimes  flashed  prismatic  rays  from  their 
facets.  Amid  this  sparkling  and  blazing,  the  glass 
itself,  of  small  size  like  all  Venetian  mirrors,  showed 
of  a  deep  bluish-black,  and  resembled  an  opening  into 
a  void  full  of  ideal  darkness. 

Curiously  enough,  none  of  the  objects  opposite  the 
mirror  were  reflected  in  it,  and  it  looked  like  one  of 
the  stage  mirrors  which  the  scene  painter  washes  over 
with  faint  neutral  tints  to  avoid  the  reflection  of  the 
auditorium. 

A  vague  instinct  led  Malivert  to  feel  that  if  any 
revelation  was  to  be  made  to  him,  the  mirror  would 
prove  to  be  the  medium  employed.  He  was  fascinated 
by  it,  although  as  a  rule  he  never  looked  at  it,  and  it 
attracted  his  glance  irresistibly.    Yet,  though  he  gazed 


77 


SPIRITE 


at  it  intently,  he  could  make  out  nothing  but  the  black 
colour,  made  more  intensely  mysterious  by  the  cut-glass 
framework.  At  last  he  thought  he  perceived  on  its 
surface  a  faint,  milky  whiteness,  like  a  distant  trem- 
bling Rght  that  appeared  to  be  drawing  nearer.  He 
turned  round  to  see  what  article  in  the  room  caused 
this  reflection,  but  saw  nothing.  Brave  though  Mali- 
vert  was,  and  he  had  proved  his  courage  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  he  felt  the  hair  of  his  flesh  stand  up  and 
the  fear  and  trembling  of  which  Job  speaks.  This 
time  he  was  about  to  cross,  knowingly  and  of  his 
own  free  will,  the  dread  threshold.  He  was  about 
to  step  outside  the  circle  which  Nature  has  traced 
around  man.  Henceforth  he  might  be  thrown  out 
of  his  orbit  and  revolve  around  some  unknown 
point.  Unbelievers  may  laugh  at  it,  yet  never 
was  a  step  fraught  with  more  serious  consequences, 
and  Guy  fully  realised  its  importance.  An  irre- 
sistible attraction  impelled  him  on,  however,  and  he 
continued  to  stare  into  the  Venetian  mirror.  What 
was  he  about  to  see  ?  Under  what  form  would  the 
spirit  present  itself  so  as  to  become  appreciable  to  his 
human  perception  ?  Would  it  be  a  sweet  or  a  terrible 
figure?    Would  it  cause  joy  or  terror?    Although  the 


78 


SPIRITE 


luminousness  within  the  glass  had  not  yet  assumed  any 
definite  form,  Guy  was  convinced  that  it  would  prove 
to  be  a  feminine  spirit.  It  could  not  be  otherwise, 
he  thought,  as  he  recollected  the  sigh  of  the  evening 
before  that  still  sounded  softly  in  his  heart.  Had 
that  spirit  belonged  to  this  earth,  or  had  it  come  from 
a  distant  planet  or  a  higher  region  ?  That  he  could 
not  tell.  However,  judging  by  what  Baron  de  Feroe 
had  said,  he  judged  that  it  must  be  a  soul  that  had 
lived  on  earth,  and  which,  drawn  by  reasons  he  would 
probably  learn  later,  was  returning  to  its  former 
abode. 

The  luminousness  in  the  mirror  began  to  assume  a 
more  distinct  form  and  faint  colours,  immaterial,  so  to 
speak,  which  would  have  dulled  the  pigments  on  the 
brightest  of  palettes.  It  was  rather  a  suggestion  of 
colour  than  colour  itself;  a  vapour  flushed  with  light 
and  of  such  delicate  tints  that  human  words  are  in- 
capable of  rendering  it.  Guy  stared  on,  a  prey  to 
nervous,  intense  emotion.  The  image  became  plainer 
and  plainer,  without,  nevertheless,  acquiring  the  hard 
precision  of  reality,  and  Guy  de  Malivert  at  last  dis- 
cerned, enclosed  within  the  border  of  the  mirror  as 
within  a  frame,  the  head  of  a  young  woman,  or  of  a 


79 


is  4:4:  4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4?±4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 

SPI  RITE 


young  girl  rather,  by  the  side  of  whose  loveliness 
earthly  beauty  was  but  as  a  shadow. 

A  faint,  rosy  flush  gave  colour  to  the  head,  on  which 
light  and  shade  were  scarcely  noticeable,  and  which  did 
not  need,  as  do  earthly  faces,  the  contrast  of  chiaroscuro 
to  bring  out  the  modelling,  for  it  was  lighted  by 
another  light  than  ours.  The  hair,  halo-like,  softly 
outlined  the  brow  like  a  golden  vapour.  The  eyes, 
half  cast  down,  were  of  a  dark  blue,  infinitely  sweet, 
recalling  the  spaces  of  heaven  that  at  sunset  are  flushed 
with  violet  tints.  The  fine,  small  nose  was  ideally 
delicate ;  a  smile  like  that  Leonardo  da  Vinci  gives  to 
his  female  faces,  but  more  tender  and  less  ironical, 
curved  the  lips  adorably  ;  the  willowy  neck,  bending 
somewhat  under  the  weight  of  the  head,  was  bowed 
forward  and  blended  into  a  silvery  half-tint  that  might 
have  served  for  light  to  another  figure. 

This  slight  sketch,  necessarily  written  with  words 
intended  to  describe  earthly  things,  can  give  but  a  most 
imperfect  idea  of  the  apparition  that  Guy  de  Malivert 
beheld  in  the  Venetian  mirror.  And  was  it  with  the  eye 
of  the  flesh  or  the  eye  of  the  soul  that  he  beheld  it  ? 
Did  the  image  really  exist,  and  could  it  have  been  seen 
by  any  one  not  under  the  same  nervous  influence  as 

80 


SPIRITE 


Guy  ?  That  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer.  This 
much  may  be  said,  that  what  he  saw,  though  it  was  like 
the  face  of  a  beautiful  woman,  in  no  respect  resembled 
what,  on  this  earth,  is  called  a  beautiful  female  face. 
The  features  were  similar,  but  they  were  purer,  trans- 
figured, idealised,  and  rendered  perceptible  by  an  im- 
material substance,  so  to  speak,  only  just  dense  enough 
to  be  visible  in  the  gross  earthly  atmosphere  by  eyes 
not  yet  freed  from  the  veils  that  covered  them.  No 
doubt  the  spirit  or  the  soul  that  was  entering  into  com- 
munication with  Guy  de  Malivert  had  borrowed  the 
form  of  its  former  perishable  body,  but  such  as  it  must 
have  become  in  a  more  subtile,  more  ethereal  region 
where  the  ghosts  of  things  alone  and  not  things  them- 
selves can  exist.  The  vision  was  an  ineffable  delight 
to  Guy ;  the  feeling  of  fear  which  he  had  experienced 
at  first  had  vanished,  and  he  gave  himself  up  unre- 
servedly to  the  strangeness  of  the  situation,  discussing 
nothing,  admitting  everything  and  resolved  to  think  the 
supernatural  natural.  He  drew  nearer  the  mirror,  in 
the  hope  of  noting  the  features  more  clearly  ;  the  image 
remained  as  it  had  at  first  appeared  to  him,  very  close 
and  yet  very  distant,  resembling  the  projection,  upon 
the  inner  surface  of  a  crystal,  of  a  figure  placed  at  a 

6  81 


SPI RITE 


distance  beyond  the  power  of  man  to  measure.  The 
reality  of  what  he  saw,  if  the  expression  may  be 
allowed  in  this  connection,  was  evidently  elsewhere, 
in  deep,  distant,  mysterious  regions  inaccessible  to 
mortals,  on  the  outskirts  of  which  even  the  boldest 
thinker  scarce  dares  venture.  In  vain  did  Guy  try  to 
connect  the  face  with  some  of  his  earthly  memories ; 
it  was  wholly  new  to  him,  and  yet  he  seemed  to 
recognise  it.  Where  had  he  seen  it  ?  Assuredly  not 
in  this  sublunar,  terraqueous  world. 

This,  then,  was  the  form  under  which  Spirite  desired 
to  show  herself.  Malivert  seeking  for  a  name  by  which 
to  call  to  himself  the  apparition  he  had  beheld  in  the 
mirror,  had  given  her  this  appellation  until  he  could 
ascertain  what  name  would  suit  her  better.  Presently 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  image  was  growing  fainter 
and  vanishing  within  the  depths  of  the  mirror.  It  now 
showed  only  as  the  light  vapour  of  a  breath,  and  even 
that  vapour  disappeared  in  its  turn.  The  passing  of 
the  vision  was  marked  by  the  sudden  reflection  of  a 
gilded  frame  suspended  on  the  wall  opposite  the  mirror, 
which  had  regained  its  usual  power  of  reflection. 

When  he  could  no  longer  doubt  that  the  apparition 
would  not  return,  on  that  evening  at  least,  Guy  threw 


82 


SPIRITE 


himself  into  an  arm-chair,  and  although  the  clock  had 
just  struck  two  in  the  morning,  its  silvery  sound  advis- 
ing him  to  retire,  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  go 
to  bed.  He  felt  fatigued,  it  is  true  ;  the  novel  emo- 
tions, the  first  step  into  an  unknown  world  had  brought 
on  the  wakeful  fatigue  that  prevents  sleep.  Besides, 
he  feared  to  miss  another  manifestation  of  Spirite  if  he 
should  fall  asleep. 

His  feet  stretched  out  on  the  fender  before  the  fire 
that  had  burned  up  again  of  itself,  Guy  thought  over 
the  events  that  had  just  taken  place  and  the  very  possi- 
bility of  which  he  would  have  denied  a  couple  of  days 
before.  He  thought  of  the  lovely  head  recalling,  as  if 
to  cause  them  to  be  forgotten  like  vain  shadows,  the 
beauties  revealed  in  dreams  by  the  imagination  of 
poets  or  the  genius  of  painters.  He  discovered  in  it 
infinite,  inexpressible  suavity,  innumerable  charms  that 
neither  nature  nor  art  could  unite  in  one  and  the  same 
face  and  he  augured  well,  from  the  sample  he  had 
beheld,  of  the  looks  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  world 
beyond.  Then  he  asked  himself  by  what  strange 
sympathy,  by  what  mysterious  and  hitherto  uncon- 
fessed  affinity  that  angel,  that  sylph,  that  soul,  that 
spirit,  of  the  nature  of  which  he  was  as  yet  ignorant, 


83 


i:  db  ~Jb  £  i:  &  db  &  i:  4r  -k  k  i:  ih  tfc  db  &  d;  db  4: £  4: 4:  ^ 

SPI RITE 


and  which  he  was  unable  to  connect  with  any  imma- 
terial order,  could  have  been  drawn  towards  him  from 
the  infinite  depths.  He  dared  not  flatter  himself  with 
having  inspired  love  in  a  being  of  a  higher  nature,  for 
conceit  was  no  trait  of  Malivert,  yet  he  could  not  help 
owning  that  Spirite  seemed  to  experience  for  him,  Guy 
de  Malivert,  a  mere  mortal,  a  sentiment  entirely  fem- 
inine in  its  character  and  that  in  this  world  would  have 
been  called  jealousy.  The  sigh  she  had  uttered,  the 
letter  of  which  she  had  changed  the  wording,  the  warn- 
ing whispered  at  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's  door,  and  the 
remark  suggested  by  her,  no  doubt,  to  the  Swedish 
baron  proved  it.  What  Guy  did  understand  quite 
plainly  and  at  once  was  that  he  himself  was  madly, 
desperately,  hopelessly  in  love  ;  a  prey  all  of  a  sudden 
to  a  passion  that  eternity  itself  could  not  satiate. 

From  that  moment  every  woman  he  had  ever 
known  was  totally  forgotten  by  him.  On  the  appear- 
ance of  Spirite,  he  had  forgotten  earthly  loves,  just  as 
Romeo  forgot  Rosalind  when  he  beheld  Juliet.  Had 
he  been  Don  Juan  in  person,  the  three  thousand  lovely 
names  would  have  vanished  of  themselves  from  his 
book.  He  did  experience  a  sense  of  terror  on  feeling 
himself  a  prey  to  that  sudden,  flame  that  swept  away 


*4 


SPI RITE 


thought,  will,  and  resistance  and  left  nothing  alive  in 
his  soul  but  passion.  It  was  too  late,  however,  and  he 
no  longer  belonged  to  himself.  Baron  de  Feroe  was 
right,  and  Guy  had  found  how  dangerous  it  is  for  a 
mortal  man  to  overstep  the  bounds  of  life  and  to  ven- 
ture, in  material  form,  among  the  spirits  if  he  bears 
not  the  golden  branch  to  which  all  spirits  bow. 

A  fearful  thought  occurred  to  Malivert.  How  was 
he  to  bring  Spirite  back  if  she  did  not  choose  to  reap- 
pear ?  If  there  were  no  means  of  doing  so,  how  would 
he  be  able  to  bear  with  the  darkness  of  the  sun  after 
having  contemplated  real  light  for  a  moment  ?  He 
was  filled  with  a  sense  of  utter  misfortune  and  sank 
into  deep  despondency  ;  he  passed  through  an  instant, 
as  long  as  eternity  itself,  of  hideous  despair.  The 
mere  possibility,  unconfirmed  by  any  indication  of  its 
truth,  brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  try  as  he 
might  to  restrain  them,  ashamed  as  he  felt  at  the  exhi- 
bition of  such  weakness,  they  overflowed  and  slowly 
rolled  down  his  cheeks.  As  he  wept,  he  felt,  with 
delight  and  surprise,  a  veil  more  tenuous  than  the 
finest  of  stuffs,  like  woven  air,  being  passed  over  his 
face,  absorbing,  drying  in  its  caress  the  bitter  drops  he 
had  shed.    The  touch  of  a  butterfly's  wing  could  not 


85 


SPI  RITE 


have  been  softer,  yet  it  was  no  illusion,  for  he  thrice 
felt  it,  and  when  his  tears  had  been  dried,  Malivert 
thought  he  perceived  a  diaphanous  white  flake  vanish- 
ing in  the  shadows,  like  a  cloudlet  in  the  heavens. 

This  attentive  and  tender  sympathy  convinced  Mali- 
vert that  Spirite,  who  seemed  to  be  ever  fluttering 
around  him,  would  answer  his  call  and  find,  thanks  to 
her  higher  intelligence  as  a  superior  being,  the  means 
of  communicating  easily  with  him.  Spirite  could  enter 
the  world  in  which  he  lived,  to  the  extent,  at  least, 
that  a  soul  can  mingle  with  the  living,  while  he,  a 
mortal,  was  prevented  from  following  her  within  the 
ideal  region  in  which  she  moved,  by  the  obstacle  of 
his  carnal  body.  It  will  surprise  no  one  that  Malivert 
passed  from  the  deepest  despair  to  the  truest  joy.  If 
a  mere  mortal  woman  can  ten  times  in  the  course  of 
one  day  plunge  you  into  the  lowest  depths  or  transport 
you  to  the  highest  heavens,  inspire  you  with  the  desire 
of  blowing  your  brains  out  or  of  purchasing  on  the 
shores  of  Lake  Como  a  villa  in  which  to  shelter  your 
loves  forever,  it  may  easily  be  understood  that  the 
feelings  awakened  by  a  spirit  are  infinitely  deeper. 

Guy's  love  for  Spirite  may,  it  is  true,  appear  rather 
sudden,  but  it  should  be  remembered  that  love  is  often 


86 


SPIRITE 


called  out  by  a  single  glance,  and  that  a  woman  seen 
through  a  pair  of  opera  glasses  at  the  theatre  does  not 
differ  very  greatly  from  the  reflection  of  a  soul  seen  in 
a  mirror  ;  that  many  serious  cases  of  passionate  love 
have  begun  in  a  manner  precisely  similar,  and  that 
besides,  though  he  himself  was  not  aware  of  the  fact, 
Guy's  love  was  far  less  sudden  than  it  seemed  to  be. 
Spirite  had  for  a  long  time  been  haunting  him,  prepar- 
ing his  unconscious  soul  for  supernatural  communica- 
tions, suggesting  to  him,  in  the  midst  of  his  worldly 
frivolity,  thoughts  deeper  than  vain  appearances, 
inspiring  him  with  the  nostalgia  of  the  ideal  by  vague 
remembrances  of  higher  spheres,  drawing  him  away 
from  idle  loves,  and  making  him  foresee  a  happiness 
that  earth  could  not  give.  She  it  was  who  had  broken 
the  threads  spun  around  Guy ;  who  had  torn  away  the 
webs  in  which  he  was  to  be  caught;  who  had  shown 
him  the  ridiculous  side  or  the  perfidy  of  a  mistress  of 
a  day,  and  until  now  had  kept  him  free  from  any 
lasting  tie.  She  had  stopped  him  on  the  very  brink  of 
the  irrevocable,  for,  though  nothing  had  happened  to 
Guy  that  was  appreciably  significant  from  the  human 
point  of  view,  he  had  come  to  a  crucial  point  in  his 
life ;  his  fate  was  hanging  in  the  mysterious  scales  : 


87 


db  db  :b £ 4:    £  4: 4: 4:  i:  "k  :b 4?  4:  £  tfc  £   4:  £  db  4r 

SPI RITE 


this  it  was  that  had  made  Spirite  resolve  to  issue  from  the 
shadow  in  which  her  occult  protection  of  him  was 
concealed,  and  to  reveal  herself  to  him,  since  he  could 
no  longer  be  directed  by  secret  influences  alone.  Why 
did  she  interest  herself  thus  in  him  ?  Did  she  yield  to 
an  impulse  of  her  own,  or  did  she  obey  an  order 
emanating  from  that  radiant  sphere  where,  as  Dante 
says,  one  can  what  one  wills  ?  She  alone  could  tell, 
and  the  time  was  perhaps  near  when  she  would  do  so. 

Malivert  at  last  went  to  bed  and  soon  fell  asleep. 
His  slumbers  were  light,  bright,  and  full  of  a  won- 
drous brilliancy  that  resembled  visions  rather  than 
dreams.  Vast  azure  spaces,  in  which  the  long  trails 
of  light  formed  endless  perspectives  of  silvern  and 
golden  vales,  opened  before  his  closed  eyes ;  then  the 
picture  would  vanish,  leaving  visible  in  even  greater 
depths  streams  of  blinding  phosphoresence,  like  unto  a 
cascade  of  molten  suns  falling  from  eternity  into  the 
infinite;  in  its  turn  the  cascade  disappeared,  and  in  its 
place  was  outspread  a  heaven  of  that  intense,  luminous 
whiteness  that  of  yore  clothed  the  three  transfigured 
figures  on  Mount  Tabor.  From  its  depths,  that 
seemed  the  very  paroxysm  of  splendour,  flashed  here 
and  there  bursts  of  stars,  brighter  gleams,  still  more 


88 


SPI RI TE 

vivid  scintillations.  There  was  in  that  light,  against 
which  the  most  brilliant  stars  would  have  shown  black, 
something  like  the  swelling  and  surging  of  an  incessant 
becoming.  From  time  to  time,  as  pass  birds  across  the 
sun's  disk,  sped  across  that  vast  irradiation  spirits 
visible,  not  through  the  shadow  they  cast,  but  through 
a  different  kind  of  light.  Among  them  Guy  thought 
he  recognised  Spirite ;  nor  was  he  mistaken,  though  she 
seemed  to  be  but  a  brilliant  point  in  space,  but  a  glob 
ule  in  the  incandescent  brightness.  Spirite  had  desired 
to  show  herself  to  her  lover,  by  means  of  the  dream 
she  evoked,  in  her  real  home.  The  soul,  freed  during 
the  hours  of  sleep  from  the  bonds  of  the  flesh,  lent  it- 
self to  the  vision,  and  for  a  few  moments  Guy  was 
enabled  to  see  with  the  inner  sight,  not  the  outer  world 
itself,  the  contemplation  of  which  is  permitted  only  to 
souls  wholly  freed,  but  a  ray  filtering  under  the  imper- 
fectly closed  door  of  the  unknown,  as  from  a  darkened 
street  one  sees  under  the  door  of  a  palace  lighted  within 
a  beam  of  brilliant  light  that  suggests  the  splendour  of 
the  feast. 

Spirite,  not  wishing  to  fatigue  Guy's  yet  too  human 
organ,  dispelled  the  visions,  and  wafted  him  from  ec- 
stasy into  ordinary  sleep.    He  felt,  as  he  fell  back  into 


89 


SPI  RITE 


the  night  of  common  dreams,  that  he  was  being  caught, 
as  though  he  were  a  shell-fish,  in  a  matrix  of  black 
marble,  in  a  darkness  of  deepest  intensity.  Then  all 
passed  away,  even  that  sensation,  and  for  two  hours 
Guy  rested  in  the  non-existence  whence  life  arises 
more  youthful  and  refreshed. 

He  slept  until  ten  in  the  morning,  and  Jack,  who 
had  been  awaiting  his  awakening,  seeing  that  his  eyes 
were  fully  opened,  pushed  open  the  door  that  he  had 
held  ajar,  entered  the  room,  drew  back  the  window 
curtains,  and  directing  his  steps  towards  Malivert's  bed, 
handed  him  on  a  silver  salver  two  letters  that  had  just 
been  delivered.  The  one  was  from  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court,  the  other  from  Baron  de  Feroe.  It  was  the 
latter  that  Guy  opened  first. 


90 


SPIRITE 

VI 

THE  Baron's  note  contained  these  words 
merely :  "  Has  Caesar  crossed  the  Rubi- 
con ? "  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's,  much  less 
brief,  insinuated,  in  cleverly  turned  phrases,  that  indefi- 
nite gossip  should  not  be  taken  seriously,  and  that  to 
break  off  suddenly  visits  that  had  become  habitual 
would  perhaps  be  more  compromising  than  to  make 
them  more  frequent.  The  note  closed  with  a  remark 
about  Adelina  Patti,  the  purpose  of  which  appeared  to 
be  that  a  seat  would  be  kept  for  him  in  box  22  at  the 
Opera.  Guy  certainly  admired  the  young  diva  greatly, 
but  in  his  present  state  of  mind  he  preferred  to  hear 
her  some  other  evening,  and  determined  he  would  find 
a  way  to  avoid  the  appointment. 

The  human  mind  has  a  tendency  to  doubt  that 
extraordinary  events  have  taken  place  when  the  envi- 
ronment in  which  these  have  occurred  has  resumed  its 
normal  appearance.  So  Malivert,  on  looking  into  the 
Venetian  mirror  by  daylight,  asked  himself,  as  he 


91 


SPIRITE 


gazed  at  its  silvery  surface  framed  in  by  the  cut-glass 
border,  and  as  he  saw  in  it  the  reflection  of  his  own 
face  only,  whether  it  was  true  that  that  piece  of  pol- 
ished glass  had  actually  shown  him,  only  a  few  hours 
since,  the  loveliest  face  the  eye  of  man  had  ever  beheld. 
In  vain  did  his  reason  attempt  to  explain  the  celestial 
vision  as  the  effect  of  a  dream,  of  a  vain  fancy,  —  his 
heart  gave  his  reason  the  lie.  Difficult  as  it  is  to 
appreciate  the  reality  of  the  supernatural,  he  felt  that 
it  was  all  true  and  that  behind  the  outwardly  calm 
appearances  surged  a  whole  world  of  mystery.  Yet 
nothing  was  changed  in  the  apartment,  and  a  visitor 
would  not  have  noticed  anything  peculiar  in  it  j  as  far 
as  Guy  was  concerned,  however,  the  door  of  every 
dresser,  of  every  cupboard,  might  prove  to  be  one 
opening  into  the  infinite.  The  least  noises,  which  he 
took  for  warnings,  made  him  start. 

In  order  to  get  rid  of  his  nervous  condition  of  excite- 
ment, he  resolved  to  take  a  long  drive.  He  had  a 
fancy  that  Spirite  would  appear  at  night  only;  besides, 
if  she  wished  to  communicate  with  him,  her  fantastic 
ubiquity  enabled  her  to  find  him  and  to  manifest  herself 
to  him  wherever  he  might  be.  In  this  affair,  if  such 
vague,  frail,  aerial,  impalpable  relations  may  be  called 


92 


SPI RITE 


an  affair,  Malivert's  role  was  necessarily  passive.  His 
ideal  mistress  could  enter  his  world  at  any  time  she 
chose,  but  he  was  unable  to  follow  her  in  the  mys- 
terious spaces  wherein  she  dwelt. 

It  had  been  snowing  two  nights  before,  and,  a  rare 
thing  in  Paris,  the  white  carpet  had  not  melted,  under 
the  influence  of  a  soft  wind,  into  that  cold  slush  worse 
even  than  the  black  slush  of  the  old  pavements  or  the 
yellow  mud  of  the  new  asphalt.  It  had  been  hardened 
by  a  sharp  frost  and  crunched  under  the  foot  like 
crushed  glass  under  carriage  wheels.  Grimalkin  was 
a  capital  trotter,  and  Malivert  had  brought  back  from 
Saint  Petersburg  a  sleigh  and  a  complete  set  of  Russian 
harness.  Opportunities  of  enjoying  sleighing  are  infre- 
quent in  our  temperate  climate,  and  sportsmen  seize  on 
them  with  avidity.  Guy  was  very  proud  of  his  sleigh, 
unquestionably  the  best  turned-out  in  Paris,  and  which 
might  have  figured  advantageously  in  the  races  on  the 
Neva  Place.  He  rather  enjoyed  the  idea  of  a  rapid 
drive  in  the  bracing  icy  air.  He  had  learned,  during 
the  winter  he  had  spent  in  Russia,  to  enjoy  the  arctic 
delights  of  snow  and  cold  ;  he  loved  to  glide  over  the 
white  carpet  scarce  rayed  by  the  steel  of  the  skates, 
driving  a  fast  horse  with  both  hands,  like  an  izvostchick. 


93 


SPIRITE 


He  had  the  sleigh  brought  round,  and  soon  reached  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  and  the  Champs-Elysees.  The 
road  had  not  been  cared  for  and  improved  as  on  the 
Neva  Place,  but  the  snow  was  deep  enough  to  allow 
the  sleigh  to  glide  along  without  bumping  too  much. 
A  Parisian  winter  cannot  be  expected  to  be  as  perfect 
as  a  Russian  one.  At  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  he  might 
have  thought  he  was  in  the  Islands,  so  even  and  white 
did  the  snow  lie,  especially  in  the  side  drives  where 
fewer  horsemen  and  carriages  are  met  with.  Guy  de 
Malivert  turned  down  a  road  leading  through  a  wood 
of  firs,  the  dark  limbs  of  which,  laden  with  snow  that 
the  wind  had  not  shaken  off,  recalled  to  him  his  drives 
in  Russia.  He  had  plenty  of  furs,  and  the  northern 
blast  seemed  to  him  but  a  zephyr  by  comparison  with 
the  cold  gales  he  had  faced  in  that  country. 

The  approaches  to  the  lake  were  crowded,  and  the 
number  of  carriages  as  large  as  on  fine  days  in  autumn 
or  spring,  when  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  are 
attracted  to  Longchamp  by  the  races  in  which  figure 
celebrities  of  the  turf.  In  carriages  hung  on  easy 
springs  were  to  be  seen  ladies  belonging  to  the  great 
world,  warmly  covered  with  huge  bear-skin  robes 
edged  with  scarlet,  and   pressing  against  their  fur- 


94 


SPIRITE 


lined  satin  cloaks  warm  zibeline  sable  muffs.  On  the 
box-seats,  covered  with  heavily  embroidered  hammer- 
cloths,  coachmen  of  great  houses,  seated  majestically, 
their  shoulders  protected  by  fur  capes,  looked  as  dis- 
dainfully as  did  their  mistresses,  at  the  women  not  in 
society  who  were  driving  themselves  in  extravagant 
and  pretentious  vehicles  drawn  by  ponies.  There 
were  also  numerous  closed  carriages,  for  the  idea  of 
driving  in  an  open  carriage  with  the  thermometer 
only  twelve  or  thirteen  degrees  above  zero,  strikes 
Parisians  as  far  too  arctic.  A  certain  number  of 
sleighs  were  to  be  seen  among  the  many  wheeled 
carriages,  for  the  snow  had  evidently  not  been  antici- 
pated ;  Malivert's  sleigh,  however,  easily  surpassed  all 
others.  Some  Russian  noWemen,  idling  around,  as 
happy  as  reindeer  in  snow,  condescended  to  approve 
of  the  elegant  curves  of  the  douga  and  of  the  correct 
way  in  which  the  harness  straps  were  fastened  to  it. 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  ;  the  lower  portion  of 
the  sky  was  veiled  by  a  soft  haze,  and  against  the 
delicate  gray  background  stood  out  the  slender  twigs 
of  the  leafless  trees  which,  with  their  slender  branches 
stripped  of  foliage,  looked  like  skeleton  leaves.  A 
rayless  sun,  resembling  a  great  red  seal,  was  sinking 


95 


£  !•  *  *  *  ±  ±  ±  ±  ±  h  ±±±±-k<k&*± 

SPI RITE 


through  the  haze.  The  lake  was  covered  with  skaters, 
three  or  four  days  of  frost  having  made  the  ice  thick 
enough  to  bear  the  weight  of  the  crowd.  The  snow, 
swept  off  the  surface  and  heaped  up  on  the  edges  of 
the  shore,  showed  the  dark,  polished  surface  rayed  in 
every  direction  by  the  blades  of  the  skates,  like  the 
mirrors  in  restaurants  on  which  lovers  scratch  their 
names  with  a  diamond.  On  the  banks  stood  people 
hiring  skates  to  bourgeois  amateurs,  whose  tumbles 
formed  the  comic  intermedes  of  the  winter  festival, 
like  the  ballet  in  the  Prophete  on  a  large  scale.  In 
the  centre  of  the  lake  the  more  famous  skaters,  dressed 
in  neat  costumes,  indulged  in  fancy  feats.  They  flew 
like  the  wind,  swung  abruptly  around,  avoided  colli- 
sions, stopped  short  by  digging  in  the  heel  of  their 
skates,  cut  curves,  grapevines,  figures  of  eight,  letters, 
like  Arab  horsemen  who,  with  the  rowels  of  their 
spurs,  write  the  name  of  Allah  on  the  flanks  of  their 
steeds.  Others  pushed  around,  in  light  hand-sledges 
quaintly  ornamented,  handsome  ladies  wrapped  in  furs, 
who  leaned  back  and  smiled  at  them,  excited  by 
the  speed  and  the  cold  air.  Some  guided  by  the  hand 
elegant  young  women,  wearing  Russian  or  Hungarian 
fur  caps,  jackets  frogged   and  braided,  and  trimmed 


96 


SPIRITE 


with  blue  fox,  bright-coloured  skirts,  looped  up  with 
clasps,  and  pretty  patent-leather  boots,  crossed,  like 
cothurns,  by  the  straps  of  the  skates.  Others  again, 
racing  each  other,  flew  along  on  one  foot,  heading 
forward  like  the  Hippomenes  and  the  Atalanta  under 
the  chestnut  trees  in  one  of  the  parterres  of  the  Tui- 
leries.  The  best  way  to  win  the  race,  now  as  formerly, 
might  well  have  been  to  drop  in  front  of  these  Atalan- 
tas  dressed  by  Worth  a  golden  apple  or  two ;  but 
there  were  those  among  them  of  such  rank  that  even 
a  diamond  brooch  would  not  have  stopped  them  for 
an  instant.  The  constant  passing  and  repassing  of  so 
many  people  dressed  with  such  strange  elegance  and 
rich  originality,  making  a  sort  of  fancy-dress  ball  on 
the  ice,  formed  a  graceful,  charming,  animated  spec- 
tacle worthy  of  the  brush  of  Watteau,  Lancret,  or 
Baron.  Some  of  the  groups  recalled  the  paintings 
placed  above  the  doors  in  old  chateaux  representing 
the  Four  Seasons,  and  in  which  Winter  is  personified 
by  gallants  pushing,  in  swan-necked  sledges,  marchion- 
esses wearing  velvet  masks,  who  turn  their  fur  muffs 
into  receptacles  for  love  letters.  In  the  present  case, 
it  is  true,  the  pretty  faces,  made  rosier  by  the  cold, 
lacked  the  masks,  but  the  veils  embroidered  with  steel 


7 


97 


±  ±  4: is  £  d?  4: 4: 4:  £  £  4:  :£?  4:  £   £  db   i:  &  &  ik 

SPI RITE 


beads  or  fringed  with  jet  made  a  fair  substitute  for 
them. 

Malivert  pulled  up  by  the  lake  shore,  and  watched 
the  entertaining  and  picturesque  scene,  the  chief  per- 
formers in  which  he  was  acquainted  with.  He  was 
enough  of  a  society  man  to  follow  the  loves,  intrigues, 
and  flirtations  that  agitated  the  select  few  whom  one 
soon  learns  to  distinguish  from  the  vulgar  herd,  the 
troop  of  supernumeraries  that  surrounds,  without  un- 
derstanding it,  every  performance,  and  whose  use  is  to 
prevent  the  action  from  standing  out  too  clearly  and 
too  bare.  But  he  looked  on  without  any  interest  in 
the  scene,  and  he  even  saw  pass  by  a  very  charming 
lady,  who  had  formerly  favoured  him,  and  who  was 
now  leaning  in  loving,  familiar  fashion  upon  the  arm 
of  a  handsome  skater,  without  feeling  the  least  trace 
of  jealousy. 

Grimalkin  was  impatiently  pawing  the  snow-covered 
ground,  and  presently  Guy  gave  him  his  head,  turned 
in  the  direction  of  the  city  and  drove  along  the 
Lake  Avenue,  up  and  down  which  carriages  were 
constantly  coming  and  going,  to  the  great  delight  of 
the  foot  passengers  who  appeared  to  enjoy  seeing  for 
the  tenth  or  twelfth  time  in  the  course  of  an  hour  the 


98 


SPIRITE 


same  yellow-bodied  coach  with  a  solemn  dowager  in  it, 
and  the  same  little  dark-green  coupe,  with  a  Havana 
poodle  at  the  window,  and  inside  a  light  o'  love  with 
her  hair  dressed  like  a  poodle's  coat. 

Guy,  as  he  drove  homewards,  checked  the  speed  of 
his  horse,  to  avoid  running  over  any  one  in  the 
crowded  road ;  and  besides,  it  is  not  good  form  to  drive 
fast  on  that  fashionable  thoroughfare.  He  saw  advanc- 
ing in  his  direction  a  carriage  he  would  rather  not  have 
met.  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  was  a  chilly  person,  and 
Guy  had  not  supposed  that  she  would  come  out  in 
such  cold  weather,  which  merely  went  to  show  how 
little  he  knew  women ;  for  no  known  cold  would  keep 
a  woman  from  going  to  a  fashionable  drive  and  show- 
ing herself  where  she  should  do  so.  Now,  in  that 
particular  winter,  the  correct  thing  was  to  go  to  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  to  take  a  turn  on  the  frozen 
lake,  the  meeting-place,  between  three  and  five  in  the 
afternoon,  of  all  the  celebrities,  in  one  way  or  another, 
that  tout  Paris  can  manage  to  collect  in  one  spot.  A 
woman  of  any  standing  would  never  forgive  herself  did 
her  name  fail  to  appear  among  those  of  the  beauties  of 
the  day  in  the  columns  of  some  well-informed  news- 
paper.     Now    Mme.    d'Ymbercourt    was  beautiful 


99 


SPI RITE 


enough,  rich  enough,  and  fashionable  enough,  to  con- 
sider herself  bound  to  conform  to  the  requirements  of 
fashion,  and  therefore,  though  shivering  a  little  under 
the  furs  in  which  she  was  wrapped  up,  she  was  per- 
forming her  pilgrimage  to  the  lake.  Malivert  was 
tempted  to  let  Grimalkin,  who  would  not  have  ob- 
jected, swing  into  his  fastest  trot,  but  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court  had  caught  sight  of  him  and  he  was  forced  to 
drive  alongside  her  carriage. 

He  chatted  on  various  indifferent  subjects,  in  an  un- 
interested way,  putting  forward  as  a  pretext  for  not 
accepting  her  invitation  to  the  Opera  that  he  had  to 
go  to  a  dinner,  when  a  sleigh  passed  so  close  as  almost 
to  touch  his  own.  This  sleigh  was  drawn  by  a  superb 
horse  of  the  Orloff  breed  ;  it  was  iron  gray,  with  a 
white  mane  and  a  tail  every  hair  in  which  gleamed  like 
silver.  Held  in  by  a  Russian  coachman  with  a  long 
beard,  green  cloth  caftan  and  fur-bordered  velvet  cap, 
the  horse  champed  its  bit  and  stepped  along  throwing 
up  its  head  and  occasionally  touching  his  knees  with  it. 
The  beauty  of  the  equipage,  the  correct  get-up  of  the 
coachman,  the  handsome  horse  attracted  Guy's  atten- 
tion, but  great  was  his  amazement  when  in  the  lady 
seated  in  the  sleigh,  and  whom  he  had  at  first  assumed 


IOO 


SPIRITE 


to  be  one  of  those  Russian  princesses  that  come  to 
Paris  for  a  season  or  two  to  dazzle  the  capital  by  their 
eccentric  display  of  wealth  —  supposing  that  Paris  can 
be  dazzled  by  anything — he  recognised,  or  thought  he 
recognised,  a  likeness  to  a  face  he  had  had  but  a  glimpse 
of,  but  which  was  now  forever  ineffaceably  imprinted 
on  his  memory,  though  he  certainly  did  not  expect  to 
meet  with  it  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  after  having 
seen  it  appear,  as  Helen  to  Faust,  in  a  sort  of  magic 
mirror.  At  the  sight  of  her  he  started  so  suddenly  that 
Grimalkin,  feeling  the  nervous  thrill,  plunged  forward. 
Guy,  casting  a  word  of  apologv  to  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court  to  the  effect  that  he  could  not  hold  in  his  horse, 
followed  the  sleigh,  which  increased  its  pace. 

As  if  surprised  at  being  followed,  the  lady  looked 
half  round  to  see  who  was  so  bold  as  to  do  so,  and 
although  she  showed  only  a  small  portion  of  her  profile, 
Guy  made  out  under  the  black  net-veiling  wavy  golden 
hair,  deep  blue  eyes,  and  an  ideal  complexion,  such  as 
the  snow  on  lofty  mountain-tops,  flushed  by  the  beams 
of  the  setting  sun,  can  alone  give  any  idea  of.  She 
wore  turquoise  earrings,  and  on  the  part  of  the  neck 
showing  between  the  collar  of  her  fur  pelisse  and  her 
hat,  curled  a  stray  lock  of  hair,  light  as  down  and  fine 


IOI 


•A,  rh*         rl*  »J/»  JU  *A«  „t„  ri-.  <  i-»  »Jji  <4»  ^t.  »|»  »K  JU         «^  .J*^        »^  »4»  j|»  jfe 

SPI RITE 

as  a  child's  hair.  It  was,  indeed,  the  face  that  had 
appeared  to  him  the  night  before,  with  the  added  reality 
needed  by  a  phantom  in  broad  daylight  and  close  to 
the  lake  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  How  did  Spirite 
happen  to  be  there  in  so  charmingly  human  a  form, 
visible,  no  doubt,  to  others  as  well  as  to  himself?  for 
it  was  difficult  to  admit  that,  even  were  the  apparition 
itself  impalpable,  the  coachman,  the  horse,  and  the 
sleigh  were  likewise  unsubstantial  shadows.  Guy  did 
not  waste  his  time  trying  to  solve  the  problem,  for,  in 
order  to  make  sure  that  he  had  not  been  deceived  by  a 
likeness  of  the  sort  that  disappears  when  it  is  examined 
closely,  he  endeavoured  to  pass  the  sleigh  so  as  to  have  a 
good  look  at  the  mysterious  face.  He  allowed  Grimal- 
kin to  step  out  at  his  best  gait,  whereat  the  good  horse 
went  off  like  an  arrow,  his  breath,  for  a  few  moments, 
steaming  upon  the  back  of  the  sleigh  Guy  was  pursu- 
ing. Nevertheless,  although  Grimalkin  was  a  very 
fast  horse,  he  was  no  match  for  the  Russian  stepper, 
perhaps  the  finest  of  his  breed  that  Malivert  had  ever 
seen.  The  caftan-clad  coachman  clicked  his  tongue, 
and  the  iron  gray  in  a  few  bounds  put  space  sufficient 
between  the  two  sleighs  to  reassure  his  mistress,  if  she 
happened  to  be  disturbed  by  the  proximity  of  Guy. 


102 


4*  4*4, 4*  4*  4j4«4^^4j4*4j4«^4*4^4j4j4*4«4*4*4*4k 

SPIRITE 

No  doubt  the  object  of  the  lady  who  bore  such  a 
startling  resemblance  to  Spirite  was  not  to  discourage 
Malivert's  pursuit,  for  her  sleigh  was  again  driven  at  a 
more  moderate  pace.  The  race  had  taken  the  pair 
into  the  Fir  Avenue,  at  this  moment  empty  of  car- 
riages, and  the  chase  settled  down  in  earnest.  Yet 
Grimalkin  did  not  once  manage  to  get  alongside  of  the 
Orloff  stepper ;  the  best  he  could  do  was  to  prevent 
the  distance  between  the  sleighs  from  increasing.  The 
hoofs  of  the  horses  sent  lumps  of  white  snow  flying 
against  the  dash-boards,  where  they  broke  into  frosty 
dust,  and  the  two  noble  animals  were  enveloped  in 
clouds  of  steam  as  in  classic  clouds.  For  one  moment, 
at  the  end  of  the  drive,  barred  by  the  file  of  carriages 
driving  down  the  main  avenue,  the  two  sleighs  were 
side  by  side,  and  Guy  was  enabled  to  see  for  a  second 
or  two  the  face  of  the  supposed  Russian  lady,  whose 
veil  was  blown  aside  by  the  wind.  A  celestially  arch 
smile  played  upon  her  lips,  the  curve  of  which  recalled 
that  of  Mona  Lisa's.  Her  eyes  were  starry  and  blue 
like  sapphires,  and  a  rosier  flush  warmed  her  velvety 
cheeks.  Spirite,  for  it  was  she,  drew  down  her  veil, 
the  coachman  urged  on  his  horse,  and  the  animal 
dashed  forward  furiously.    A  cry  of  terror  escaped 

103 


SPI RITE 


Guy,  for  at  that  very  instant  a  carriage  was  crossing 
the  drive,  and,  forgetting  that  Spirite,  as  a  disembodied 
spirit,  was  safe  from  all  earthly  accidents,  he  looked  for 
a  dreadful  collision;  but  the  horse,  the  coachman,  and 
the  sleigh  passed  through  the  carriage  as  through  a  mist, 
and  were  speedily  out  of  Malivert's  sight.  Grimalkin 
seemed  terrified ;  nervous  shudders  ran  all  over  his 
limbs,  usually  so  firm,  as  if  he  were  puzzled  by  the 
disappearance  of  the  sleigh.  Animals  have  wonder- 
fully deep  instinct,  and  often  see  what  escapes  man's 
careless  glance.  Many  of  them  seem  endowed  with  a 
sense  of  the  supernatural.  But  Grimalkin  soon  calmed 
down  on  joining  the  procession  of  undoubted  carriages 
along  the  lake  shore. 

As  he  drove  down  the  Avenue  de  PImperatrice, 
Guy  met  Baron  de  Feroe  who  was  also  returning  from 
the  Bois  in  a  light  drojky.  After  asking  Malivert 
for  a  light  for  his  cigar,  the  Baron  said  to  him,  half 
mysteriously,  half  quizzically  :  "  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt 
will  not  be  very  well  pleased,  and  you  will  be 
scolded  in  rare  fashion  at  the  Opera  to-night,  if  you 
are  imprudent  enough  to  go.  I  fancy  that  sleigh- 
race  can  scarcely  have  been  to  her  taste.  Meanwhile 
you   had  better  tell  Jack  to  throw  a  blanket  over 


104 


SPIRITE 


Grimalkin,  if  you  do  not  want  him  to  catch  his  death 
of  cold." 

Guy  was  past  being  amazed  at  strange  things.  It 
had  not  appeared  to  him  at  all  out  of  the  way  that  a 
sleigh  should  pass  through  a  carriage.  This  facility  in 
traversing  obstacles  against  which  terrestrial  vehicles 
would  have  been  smashed  showed  that  it  was  indeed 
a  mysterious  equipage  come  from  the  spheres  of  the 
impossible,  and  which  could  contain  Spirite  only. 
Unquestionably  Spirite  was  jealous,  or  at  least — for 
all  her  actions  proved  it  —  she  desired  to  keep  Malivert 
and  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  apart ;  and  evidently  she  had 
gone  about  doing  so  in  the  right  way,  for  as  he  turned 
into  the  open  space  of  the  Arc  de  l'Etoile,  Guy  saw 
the  Countess  in  her  carriage  appearing  to  listen  very 
attentively  to  the  doubtless  gallant  conversation  of 
M.  d'Aversac,  who  was  bending  elegantly  over  his 
horse's  withers  as  he  walked  it  by  her  side. 

"  That  is  to  pay  me  for  the  sleigh,"  said  Malivert 
to  himself ;  "  but  I  am  not  the  kind  of  fellow  to  be 
egged  on  in  that  way.  D'Aversac  is  a  sham  clever 
fellow,  just  as  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  is  a  sham  beauty. 
They  are  an  excellent  match  for  each  other.  I  can 
judge  them  in  the  most  disinterested  fashion,  since 


105 


tlr  ti?  ts?    ti?  db    'A*  *^*  *^*  ^^tbdbtl^tib      dbtfbdb  si?  dbsS? 
SPI RITE 

affairs  of  this  sort  have  ceased  to  concern  me.  They 
will  be  a  well  assorted  pair,  as  the  song  says." 

Such  was  the  net  result  of  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's 
manoeuvres.  On  perceiving  Guy  she  had  bent  for- 
ward, perhaps  a  little  more  than  was  proper,  to  reply 
to  the  sweet  sayings  of  M.  d'Aversac.  The  poor 
woman  thought  she  might  recall  her  lukewarm  adorer 
by  touching  his  self-love.  She  had  had  a  glimpse  of 
Spirite,  and  she  had  guessed  that  she  had  a  formi- 
dable rival  in  her.  The  eagerness  displayed  by  Guy, 
usually  so  cool,  in  pursuing  the  mysterious  sleigh  and 
the  woman  whom  no  one  had  ever  met  at  the  Bois, 
had  stung  her  to  the  quick,  for  she  had  easily  seen 
through  the  excuse  so  hurriedly  given,  and  did  not 
believe  that  Grimalkin  had  run  away.  D'Aversac, 
who  was  swelling  with  satisfaction,  for  he  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  being  so  well  treated,  modestly  attributed 
to  his  own  merit  what  he  would  have  been  wiser  to 
ascribe  to  feminine  annoyance.  He  even  magnani- 
mously pitied  poor  Malivert,  who  had  reckoned  too 
surely  on  possessing  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's  affections. 
All  the  projects  which  the  gentleman's  conceit,  helped 
by  appearances,  immediately  proceeded  to  build  up  on 
this  slight  event,  may  easily  be  imagined. 

106 


k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  kkkk  k  'J:  k  kkkk  k k 

SPIRITE 


On  that  day  Guy  was  engaged  to  dinner  to  people 
with  whom  it  would  be  difficult  to  fail  in  keeping 
an  appointment  made  long  before.  Fortunately  there 
were  many  guests,  and  his  absentmindedness  was  not 
noticed.  The  dinner  over,  he  exchanged  a  few  words 
with  the  mistress  of  the  house,  and  having  thus  suffi- 
ciently made  plain  that  he  had  come,  he  performed 
a  masterly  retreat  towards  the  second  drawing-room, 
where  he  shook  hands  with  men  of  distinction  with 
whom  he  was  acquainted  and  who  had  withdrawn 
there  to  talk  more  freely  of  important  or  secret 
matters;  then  he  vanished  and  went  to  his  club, 
where  he  expected  to  meet  Baron  de  Feroe.  He  did 
find  him  seated  in  front  of  a  small  card-table,  playing 
ecarte  with  the  radiant  d'Aversac,  of  whom  it  is  only 
just  to  say  that  he  endeavoured  to  repress  his  joy  in 
order  to  avoid  humiliating  Malivert.  Contrary  to  the 
proverb,  "  Fortunate  at  cards  unfortunate  in  love," 
d'Aversac  was  winning,  and  if  he  had  been  at  all 
superstitious  he  might  have  felt  some  doubt  as  to  the 
soundness  of  his  hopes.  The  game  having  come  to 
an  end,  the  Baron,  as  he  was  the  loser,  could  rise, 
pretexting  fatigue,  and  simply  refuse  the  revenge 
offered  by  his  adversary.     Feroe  and  Guy  de  Malivert 


107 


4:dfc^:  ±  ic  db    &  &  &  £  tirdb 

SPI  RITE 


went  out  together,  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
Boulevard  near  the  club. 

"What  will  the  frequenters  of  that  drawing-room 
called  the  Bois,"  said  Guy  to  the  Baron,  "  think  of 
the  lady  and  the  sleigh,  the  horse  and  the  coach- 
man, all  so  very  striking  and  yet  unknown  to  every 
one  ?  " 

"  The  vision  manifested  itself  but  to  you,  to  the 
Countess,  on  whom  Spirite  desired  to  act,  and  to  me 
who,  as  one  of  the  initiated,  can  see  what  is  invisible 
to  other  men.  You  may  be  sure  that  if  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  speaks  of  the  handsome  Russian  princess 
and  the  splendid  stepper,  nobody  will  know  what  she 
is  talking  about." 

"  Do  you  think,"  asked  Malivert  of  the  Baron, 
"that  I  shall  soon  see  Spirite  again?" 

"You  may  expect  an  early  visit,"  replied  de  Feroe. 
"  The  communications  I  receive  from  the  other  world 
inform  me  that  much  interest  is  taken  in  you  there." 

"  Shall  it  be  to-night  or  to-morrow  ?  —  in  my  rooms 
or  in  a  place  where  I  do  not  expect  to  see  her,  as 
happened  to-day  ?  "  cried  Malivert,  as  impatient  as  a 
passionate  lover  or  a  neophyte  eager  to  penetrate  a 
mystery. 

108 


SPI  RITE 


"  I  cannot  quite  tell  you  that,"  replied  the  Swedish 
Baron.  "  The  spirits,  for  whom  time  does  not  exist 
or  has  ceased  to  exist,  do  not  reckon  hours,  since  they 
live  in  eternity.  As  far  as  Spirite  is  concerned,  if  she 
saw  you  to-night  or  in  a  thousand  years,  it  would  be 
exactly  the  same  thing.  But  spirits  that  deign  to  enter 
into  communication  with  us  poor  mortals,  remember 
the  brevity  of  our  life,  the  imperfection  and  the  fra- 
gility of  our  organs ;  they  know  that  between  one 
apparition  and  another,  if  measured  by  the  eternal  dial, 
the  perishable  envelope  of  man  has  time  to  dissolve 
into  dust  a  hundred  times  over;  it  is  probable,  there 
fore,  that  Spirite  will  not  keep  you  waiting.  She  has 
descended  to  our  sphere,  and  appears  to  have  made  up 
her  mind  to  go  back  to  her  own  only  after  carrying 
out  her  project." 

"What  is  that  project?"  said  Malivert.  "You, 
to  whom  nothing  is  closed  in  that  supernatural 
world,  must  know  the  motive  which  directs  this 
pure  spirit  towards  a  being  yet  subjected  to  material 
conditions." 

"  On  that  point,  my  dear  Guy,"  replied  Baron  de 
Feroe,  "  my  lips  are  sealed.  I  may  not  repeat  the 
secrets  of  the  spirits.     I  was  warned  to  put  you  on 


109 


SPI RITE 


your  guard  against  any  terrestrial  entanglement,  and  to 
prevent  your  entering  into  bonds  which  might  perhaps 
chain  your  soul  to  a  place  in  which  it  would  suffer 
from  the  eternal  regret  of  having  lost  its  freedom.  My 
mission  does  not  go  beyond  that." 

Thus  chatting,  Malivert  and  the  Baron,  followed 
by  their  carriages  which  were  being  driven  along 
the  pavement,  reached  the  Madeleine,  the  Greek 
columns  of  which,  silvered  by  the  pale  beams  of  a 
winter  moon,  looked  at  the  end  of  the  broad  Rue 
Royale  something  like  the  Parthenon,  a  resemblance 
which  disappears  with  daylight.  On  arriving  there 
the  two  friends  separated  and  got  into  their  respec- 
tive coupes. 

On  reaching  home,  Malivert  threw  himself  into  his 
arm-chair  and,  his  elbow  leaning  on  the  table,  began  to 
think.  Spirite's  apparition  in  the  mirror  had  inspired 
him  with  the  immaterial  desire,  the  winged  volition  to 
which  the  sight  of  an  angel  gives  birth,  but  her  pres- 
ence on  the  lake  shore,  under  a  more  real  feminine 
form,  had  lighted  in  his  heart  the  fire  of  human  love. 
He  felt  himself  suffused  with  burning  effluvia,  and 
possessed  by  that  absolute  love  which  even  eternal 
possession  does  not  satisfy.    As  he  was  thinking,  his 


I  10 


4, 4. 4, 4.  4*  4»  4«  4»  4;  4»  4»  4»  4»  4»  4;  4»  4»  4»  4;  4j  4»  4«  4;  4» 

 SPIRITE  

hand  outstretched  on  the  table  covered  with  papers,  he 
saw  against  the  dark  background  of  the  Turkish  table- 
cover  the  outlines  of  another  hand,  slender,  of  a  per- 
fection unequalled  by  art  and  that  nature  would  in  vain 
attempt  to  reach  ;  a  tenuous  hand  with  long  fingers, 
polished  onyx-like  nails ;  on  the  back  of  the  hand 
showed  a  few  veins  of  azure  like  the  polished  reflec- 
tions which  colour  the  milky  opal,  and  it  was  lighted 
by  a  light  which  was  certainly  not  that  of  the  lamp. 
The  rosy  freshness  of  the  tone  and  the  ideal  delicacy 
of  the  form  proved  conclusively  that  it  could  be 
Spirite's  hand  only.  The  small,  clean,  well-turned, 
high-bred  wrist  ended  in  a  mist  of  soft  lace.  As  if  to 
plainly  mark  that  the  hand  was  there  but  as  a  sign,  the 
arm  and  the  body  were  wanting.  While  Guy  gazed 
at  it  with  eyes  no  longer  amazed  at  anything  extraordi- 
nary, the  fingers  of  the  hand  stretched  out  on  one  of 
the  sheets  of  writing-paper  thrown  confusedly  on  the 
table  and  began  to  simulate  the  movements  of  one 
writing.  They  seemed  to  trace  lines,  and  when  they 
had  gone  over  the  whole  page  with  the  rapidity  of  an 
actor  writing  a  letter  in  a  play,  Guy  caught  hold  of  the 
paper,  expecting  to  find  on  it  written  sentences,  known 
or  unknown  signs.    The  paper  was  perfectly  white. 


1 1 1 


dbdb  4:  4:  i:  £  £  4?  db  i:  4?4rti?dbalrdbdbtbdbti?db  tfc  dbdb 
SPI RITE 


Guy  looked  at  the  sheet  with  considerable  disappoint- 
ment. He  put  it  nearer  the  lamp,  examined  it  in  every 
way,  made  the  light  fall  upon  it  in  every  possible 
manner  without  discovering  the  least  trace  of  writ- 
ing, and  yet  the  hand  was  continuing  upon  another 
sheet  the  same  imaginary  work,  apparently  producing 
no  result. 

"  What  means  this  ? "  asked  Malivert  of  himself. 
"  Can  Spirite  have  written  with  sympathetic  ink  that 
one  must  heat  in  order  to  bring  out  the  letters  ?  But 
her  mysterious  fingers  hold  neither  pen  nor  shadow 
of  a  pen.  What  does  it  mean  ?  Am  I  to  serve  myself 
as  secretary  to  this  spirit,  to  be  my  own  medium — to 
use  the  consecrated  term  ?  The  spirits,  it  is  said, 
which  can  produce  illusions  and  appearances  and  call 
up  in  the  brain  of  those  whom  they  haunt  fearful  or 
superb  spectacles,  are  incapable  of  acting  upon  material 
reality  and  of  displacing  even  a  straw." 

He  remembered  the  impulse  which  had  led  him  to 
write  the  note  to  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  and  it  occurred 
to  him  that  by  nervous  influence  Spirite  might,  perhaps, 
succeed  in  dictating  to  him  inwardly  what  she  wished 
to  say  to  him.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  let  his  hand 
go  and  to  still  his  own  thoughts  as  much  as  he  could, 


112 


SPIRITE 

so  that  they  should  not  mingle  with  those  of  the  spirit. 
Collecting  himself  and  abstracting  himself  from  the 
external  world,  Guy  calmed  his  over-excited  brain, 
turned  up  a  little  the  wick  of  the  lamp,  took  the  pen, 
dipped  it  in  the  ink,  placed  his  hand  on  the  paper,  and, 
his  heart  beating  with  timid  hope,  waited. 

Very  soon  he  experienced  a  curious  sensation.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  losing  the  sense  of  his  own 
personality,  that  his  individual  remembrances  were  van- 
ishing like  those  of  a  confused  dream,  that  his  thoughts 
were  disappearing  like  birds  in  the  heavens.  Although 
his  body  was  still  near  the  table,  preserving  the  same 
attitude,  Guy  was  inwardly  absent;  he  had  vanished, 
disappeared.  Another  soul,  or  at  least  another  mind 
had  taken  the  place  of  his  own  and  was  directing  those 
servants  who,  to  act,  were  awaiting  the  unknown 
master.  The  nerves  of  his  fingers  trembled  and  began 
to  execute  movements  of  which  he  was  unconscious, 
the  pen  began  to  move  on  the  paper,  tracing  rapid 
signs  in  Guy's  handwriting,  slightly  modified  by  the 
external  impulse.  This  is  what  Spirite  dictated  to 
her  medium.  This  confession  of  the  outer  world  was 
found  among  Malivert's  papers,  and  I  have  been  per- 
mitted to  transcribe  it. 


8 


SPIRITE 


SPIRITE'S  DICTATION 

"  First,  you  must  know  the  being,  undefinable  by 
you,  who  has  entered  into  your  life.  However 
penetrating  you  may  be,  you  cannot  succeed  in  mak- 
ing out  its  true  nature,  and  as  in  a  badly  written 
tragedy,  in  which  the  hero  states  his  names,  titles,  and 
references,  I  am  obliged  to  explain  myself ;  but  I  have 
this  excuse,  — that  no  one  else  can  do  it  for  me.  Your 
intrepid  heart,  which  did  not  hesitate  to  confront  at  my 
call  the  mysterious  terrors  of  the  unknown,  does  not 
need  to  be  reassured.  Besides,  even  did  danger  exist, 
it  would  not  prevent  your  pursuing  the  adventure. 
The  invisible  world,  of  which  this  world  is  but  the 
veil,  has  its  pitfalls  and  abysses,  but  you  shall  not  fall 
into  any  of  them.  Spirits  of  falsehood  and  evil  traverse 
it ;  there  are  angels  of  darkness  as  there  are  angels  of 
light,  revolted  powers  and  submissive  powers,  benefi- 
cent and  harmful  forces.  The  lower  portion  of  the 
mystic  ladder,  the  summit  of  which  is  lost  in  eternal 
light,  is  shrouded  in  darkness.  I  hope  that,  with  my 
help,  you  will  ascend  the  luminous  rounds.  I  am 
neither  angel  nor  demon,  nor  one  of  the  intermediary 
spirits  who  bear  through  space  the  Divine  Will  as 


114 


SPIRITE 


the  nervous  fluid  communicates  to  the  limbs  of  the 
body  the  human  will.  I  am  merely  a  soul  still  await- 
ing judgment  and  allowed  by  divine  goodness  to  antici- 
pate a  favourable  sentence.  I,  too,  have  dwelt  on  your 
earth,  and  I  could  repeat  the  melancholy  epitaph  of 
the  shepherd  in  Poussin's  picture,  4  Et  in  Arcadia  ego? 
Do  not,  because  I  quote  Latin,  mistake  me  for  the 
soul  of  a  literary  woman.  In  the  place  where  I  am 
everything  is  known  intuitively,  and  the  various  lan- 
guages spoken  by  humankind  before  and  after  the  con- 
fusion of  tongues  are  equally  familiar  to  us.  Words 
are  but  the  shadows  of  ideas  and  we  possess  the  idea 
itself  in  its  essential  state.  If  age  could  exist  in  a 
place  where  time  is  not,  I  should  be  very  young  in  my 
new  country.  It  is  only  a  few  days  since,  freed  by 
death,  I  left  the  atmosphere  which  you  breathe  and  to 
which  I  am  recalled  by  a  feeling  that  the  passage  from 
one  world  to  another  has  not  effaced.  My  terrestrial 
life,  or  rather,  my  last  apparition  on  your  planet,  was 
very  short,  but  it  was  sufficient  to  give  me  time  to 
learn  how  deeply  a  loving  soul  may  suffer.  When 
Baron  de  Feroe  sought  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  the 
spirit  the  vague  manifestations  of  which  troubled  you, 
and  when  he  asked  you  if  ever  a  woman  or  a  girl 

115 


SPI  R  TTE 


had  died  of  a  broken  heart  on  your  account,  he  was 
nearer  the  truth  than  he  believed,  and  although  you 
can  recall  nothing  of  the  kind,  since  you  were  un- 
aware of  it,  the  remark  deeply  troubled  you  and  your 
confusion  was  ill  concealed  under  a  playfully  sceptical 
denial. 

"You  never  knew  it,  yet  my  life  touched  yours. 
Your  eyes  looked  elsewhere,  and  as  far  as  you  were 
concerned,  I  was  lost  in  the  shadow. 

"  The  first  time  I  saw  you  was  in  the  parlour  of  the 
Convent  of  the  Birds,  where  you  went  to  visit  your 
sister,  who  was  boarding  there  as  I  was.  She  was  in 
a  more  advanced  class,  for  I  was  then  only  thirteen  or 
fourteen  at  most,  and  I  seemed  younger,  for  I  was 
very  frail,  dainty,  and  fair.  You  paid  no  attention 
then  to  the  little  chit,  to  the  child  who,  while  busy 
eating  the  chocolate  creams  which  her  mother  had 
brought  her,  glanced  timidly  at  you.  You  were  then 
about  twenty  or  twenty-two.  In  mv  childish  simpli- 
city I  thought  you  very  handsome.  The  air  of  kind- 
ness and  affection  with  which  you  spoke  to  your  sister 
touched  and  attracted  me,  and  I  wished  I  had  a  brother 
like  you.  My  childish  imagination  went  no  farther. 
As  Mile,  de  Malivert  had  finished  her  education,  she 

116 


SPI RITE 


left  the  convent,  and  you  not  did  come  again.  But 
your  image  was  never  effaced  from  my  remembrance  ; 
it  remained  on  the  white  parchment  of  my  soul  like 
those  light  outlines  traced  in  pencil  by  a  skilled  hand 
which  are  found  again  long  afterwards,  almost  invisi- 
ble but  persisting,  the  only  traces  at  times  of  a  van- 
ished hand.  The  idea  that  so  great  a  personage 
could  ever  notice  me,  who  was  still  in  the  young- 
est class  and  treated  somewhat  disdainfully  by  the 
older  boarders,  would  have  been  much  too  ambitious, 
and  did  not  even  occur  to  me,  at  least  at  that  time. 
But  I  very  often  thought  of  you,  and  in  those  chaste 
romances  woven  by  the  most  innocent  imaginations, 
you  it  was  who  always  played  the  part  of  Prince 
Charming,  who  delivered  me  from  fancied  perils, 
who  carried  me  off  through  underground  ways,  who 
put  to  flight  corsairs  and  brigands  and  brought  me 
back  to  the  King  my  father.  For  such  a  hero  as  you 
were  must  have  at  least  an  Infanta  or  a  Princess,  and 
I  modestly  assumed  that  rank.  At  other  times  the 
romance  changed  into  a  pastoral ;  you  were  a  shepherd 
and  I  was  a  shepherdess,  and  our  flocks  mingled  in 
tender  green  meadows.  Without  suspecting  it,  you 
formed  a  very  considerable  part  of  my  life,  and  you 


117 


SPI  RITE 


.orded  over  it.  It  was  to  you  that  I  ascribed  all  my 
little  successes  at  school,  and  I  worked  with  all  my 
strength  to  deserve  your  approbation.  I  said  :  c  He 
does  not  know  that  I  have  won  a  prize,  but  he  will 
know  it  and  he  will  be  pleased  ;  '  and  although  nat- 
urally idle,  I  set  to  work  again  with  renewed  energy. 
Was  it  not  curious  that  my  child's  soul  should  have 
given  itself  to  you  secretly  and  acknowledged  itself 
the  vassal  of  a  lord  of  its  own  choice  who  did  not 
even  suspect  this  homage  ?  Is  it  not  stranger  still 
that  that  first  impression  should  never  have  been 
effaced? — for  it  lasted  all  my  life,  alas  !  a  very  short 
one,  and  is  prolonged  even  beyond  it.  At  sight  of 
you,  something  indefinable  and  mysterious  moved  in 
me  of  which  I  understood  the  meaning  only  when  my 
eyes,  as  they  closed,  were  opened  forever.  My  con- 
dition as  an  impalpable  being,  as  a  pure  spirit,  permits 
me  now  to  tell  you  those  things  which  a  daughter  of 
earth  no  doubt  would  hide;  but  the  immaculate  inno- 
cence of  a  soul  cannot  blush  ;  celestial  modesty  may 
confess  love. 

"  Two  years  thus  went  by.  I  had  grown  out  of 
childhood  into  maidenhood,  and  my  dreams  began  to 
become  less  puerile,  while  still  remaining  innocent. 

118 


•4««j|*«4«    «j*  «4*  »i»  *£*  *4*  »A»  •!•»  »Jr»ri«  ^i-»»f»  •!■»    »!••  »U  »|<  »j« 

SPIRITE 


There  was  rather  less  rose  and  azure  in  them  and 
they  did  not  always  end  in  the  blaze  of  an  apotheosis. 
I  often  went  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  sat  down  on 
a  bench  far  from  my  companions  busy  with  their 
games  or  whispered  conversations,  and  I  murmured 
like  a  litany  the  syllables  of  your  name.  Sometimes 
even  I  was  bold  enough  to  think  that  that  name 
might  become  my  own  in  consequence  of  chances 
or  adventures  as  entangled  as  those  of  a  comedy  of 
cloak  and  sword,  the  plot  of  which  I  arranged  to 
suit  my  own  fancy. 

"  I  belonged  to  a  family  the  peer  of  your  own,  and 
my  parents  enjoyed  a  fortune  and  a  rank  which  made 
the  distant  project  of  marriage  which  I  formed  almost 
timidly,  in  the  most  secret  corner  of  my  heart,  seem 
anything  but  a  chimera  or  a  foolish  vision.  It  would 
have  been  most  natural  that  we  should  meet  some 
day  in  the  society  in  which  we  both  moved.  But 
would  I  take  your  fancy  ?  would  you  think  me 
pretty  ?  That  was  a  question  which  my  small  board- 
ing-school mirror  did  not  answer  in  the  negative,  as 
you  may  now  judge  by  the  reflection  which  I  sent 
to  your  Venetian  mirror,  and  by  my  appearance  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne.    Supposing,  however,  you  were 


119 


SPI  RITE 


to  pay  as  little  attention  to  the  young  lady  as  to  the 
child  in  the  convent  ?  When  I  thought  of  that,  I 
was  filled  with  the  deepest  discouragement.  But 
youth  never  despairs  very  long,  and  I  would  soon 
indulge  in  brighter  fancies.  It  seemed  impossible  to 
me  that  when  you  saw  me  you  should  not  recognise 
that  I  was  yours,  that  my  soul  was  marked  with  your 
seal,  that  I  had  adored  you  from  childhood,  —  in  a 
word,  that  I  was  the  one  woman  created  purposely 
for  you.  I  did  not  say  these  things  to  myself  so 
plainly,  for  I  did  not  then  understand  the  emotions  of 
my  heart  as  I  do  now,  when  I  can  see  the  two  sides 
of  life,  but  it  was  the  deep  instinct  of  blind  faith 
and  irresistible  feeling.  In  spite  of  my  virginal  igno- 
rance and  a  candour  that  has  perhaps  never  been 
surpassed,  my  soul  was  filled  with  a  passion  which 
was  to  destroy  me,  and  which  to-dav  has  been  revealed 
for  the  first  time.  I  had  no  bosom  friend  at  the  con- 
vent, and  I  lived  alone  with  my  thoughts  of  you. 
Jealous  of  my  secret,  I  dreaded  confidences,  and  every 
friendship  that  would  have  drawn  me  away  from  my 
one  idea  was  repellent  to  me.  I  was  called  serious, 
and  the  teachers  used  to  propose  me  as  a  model.  I 
awaited  the  time  when  I  was  to  leave  the  convent 


120 


SPIRITE 


with  less  impatience  than  might  be  supposed.  It  was 
a  moment  of  respite  between  thought  and  action.  As 
long  as  I  was  shut  up  within  the  convent  walls,  I  had 
the  right  to  lose  myself  indolently  in  my  dream 
without  any  self-reproach,  but  once  I  should  have 
flown  forth  from  the  cage,  I  should  have  to  direct  my 
own  flight,  to  tend  to  my  aim,  to  ascend  towards  my 
star;  and  customs,  manners,  conventionalities,  infinite 
modesty,  the  numerous  veils  with  which  civilisation 
surrounds  her,  forbid  a  young  girl  to  take  the  initia- 
tive in  a  matter  of  love.  She  cannot  take  any  step 
to  reveal  herself  to  her  own  ideal;  a  proper  pride  is 
opposed  to  her  offering  what  must  be  priceless.  Her 
eyes  must  be  cast  down,  her  lips  closed,  her  bosom 
motionless ;  no  flush,  no  pallor  must  betray  her  when 
she  finds  herself  in  the  presence  of  the  man  she 
secretly  loves,  and  who  often  goes  away  believing  her 
disdainful  or  indifferent.  How  many  souls  created  one 
for  the  other  have,  for  lack  of  a  word,  a  glance,  a 
smile,  gone  different  ways  that  separated  them  more 
and  more  and  made  their  meeting  forever  impossible. 
How  many  lives  deplorably  wrecked  owe  their  mis- 
fortune to  such  a  cause  unperceived  by  all,  and  at 
times  unknown  even  to  themselves.     I  had  often 


121 


t2»  ds»  «!b  4?   «fc  4?ts?  ?t?  tS?  tf?  Tr?  A  ?lb  4?  4?  «1?  tt?  it? 

SPIRITE 

thought  over  these  things,  and  they  recurred  more 
strongly  to  my  mind  at  the  moment  when  I  was  about 
to  leave  the  convent  to  enter  into  the  world.  Yet  I 
held  to  my  resolution.  The  time  of  my  departure 
came,  my  mother  sent  for  me,  and  I  bade  farewell 
to  my  companions  with  but  slight  marks  of  feeling. 
I  left  no  friendship  and  no  remembrance  within  those 
walls,  where  several  years  of  my  life  had  been  spent. 
The  thought  of  you  alone  formed  my  treasure. 


122 


SPIRITE 


VIII 

IT  was  with  a  lively  feeling  of  pleasure  that  I  entered 
the  room,  or  rather  the  small  apartment  which 
my  mother  had  prepared  for  me  on  my  leaving 
the  convent.  It  consisted  of  a  bedroom,  a  large 
dressing-room  and  a  sitting-room,  the  windows  of 
which  looked  out  on  a  garden  prolonged  by  a  view  over 
the  neighbouring  gardens.  A  low  wall  covered  with  a 
thick  mantle  of  ivy  formed  the  boundary-line,  but  the 
stone  showed  nowhere,  and  nothing  was  visible  but  a 
procession  of  gigantic  old  chestnut  trees,  which  gave  the 
gardens  the  appearance  of  a  vast  park.  Scarcely  at  the 
very  extremity  did  the  glance  rest,  between  the  more 
distant  masses  of  foliage,  upon  the  corner  of  a  roof  or 
the  elbow  of  a  chimney-pot,  a  signature  which  Paris 
places  upon  every  one  of  its  horizons.  It  was  a  rare 
satisfaction,  possible  only  to  wealth,  to  have  before  me, 
in  the  very  centre  of  the  great  city,  a  broad,  free, 
empty  place  with  air,  sky,  sunshine,  and  verdure.  Is 
it  not  disagreeable  to  feel  too  close  to  one's  self  other 


123 


SPI  RITE 


lives,  passions,  vices,  misfortunes,  and  is  not  the 
delicate  modesty  of  the  soul  somewhat  depressed  by 
such  close  vicinage?  I  therefore  felt  genuine  joy  as  I 
gazed  out  of  my  windows  upon  that  oasis  of  coolness, 
silence,  and  solitude.  It  was  August,  for  I  had  finished 
my  last  school  year  in  the  convent,  and  the  foliage  v/as 
still  intensely  green,  but  with  the  warmer  tone  which 
the  passing  of  summer  imparts  to  vegetation.  In  the 
centre  of  the  flower  garden  under  my  windows  a  bed 
of  geraniums  in  full  bloom  dazzled  the  eyes  with  its 
scarlet  blaze.  The  sward  surrounding  this  flower-bed, 
a  carpet  of  green  velvet  of  English  rye  grass,  brought 
out  by  its  emerald  tint  that  red  more  ardent  than  fire. 
On  the  finely  sanded  walk  marked  like  a  ribbon  by  the 
teeth  of  the  rakes,  the  birds  were  hopping  about  trust- 
fully and  seemed  perfectly  at  home.  I  promised 
myself  that  I  should  share  their  excursions  without 
making  them  fly  away. 

"  My  room  was  hung  with  white  cashmere  trimmed 
with  blue  silk  cords.  This  was  also  the  colour  of  the 
furniture  and  the  window  curtains.  In  my  small 
sitting-room,  decorated  in  the  same  way,  a  magnificent 
Erard  piano  offered  its  keyboard  to  my  hands,  and  I  at 
once  tried  its  soft  sonority.    A  bookcase  of  rosewood 


124 


tb:!: 4:  ±  i:  db  is  i:  £  &  tfc  tfcti? 

SPIRITE 


placed  opposite  the  piano  contained  the  pure  books,  the 
chaste  poets  which  a  maiden  may  read,  and  the  lower 
shelves  contained  the  scores  of  the  great  composers  ; 
Bach  elbowed  Haydn,  Mozart  was  side  by  side  with 
Beethoven,  like  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo,  and 
Meyerbeer  leaned  upon  Weber.  My  mother  had 
brought  together  the  masters  I  admired,  those  who 
were  my  favourites.  An  elegant  jardiniere  full  of 
sweet-scented  flowers  bloomed  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  like  a  great  nosegay.  I  was  being  treated  like  a 
spoiled  child.  I  was  the  only  daughter,  and  the  whole 
affection  of  my  parents  was  naturally  concentrated 
upon  me. 

"  I  was  to  make  my  entrance  into  society  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  season,  —  that  is,  two  or  three  months  later, 
at  the  time  which  puts  an  end  to  country  life,  to  travel, 
to  sojourns  in  watering-places  and  gambling-places,  to 
country-house  parties,  to  hunting,  racing,  and  all  that 
society  invents  to  pass  the  time  which  it  is  not  proper 
for  well-bred  people  to  spend  in  Paris,  where  my 
parents  had  been  detained  by  business.  I  greatly  pre- 
ferred remaining  in  town  to  staying  in  the  old  and 
rather  gloomy  chateau  in  the  very  depths  of  Brittany 
to  which  I   had  gone  regularly  for  every  vacation. 


125 


-4*  <4*     rl-e  «X«  rli  .1 » »K  «4«  *A*     jjjjjy t§y jjj t^?  *|y *sj  s!>    tS»  Tt?  TtT Tt? 

SPI RITE 


Besides,  I  fancied  I  should  have  a  chance  of  meeting 
you,  of  hearing  you  spoken  of,  or  of  coming  across 
people  acquainted  with  you  ;  but  I  learned  indirectly 
that  you  had  been  gone  for  some  time  on  a  trip  to 
Spain  which  would  last  a  few  months  longer.  Your 
friends,  to  whom  you  rarely  wrote,  did  not  expect  you 
back  before  winter.  It  was  said  that  your  fancy  had 
been  caught  by  a  mantilla-wearing  Spanish  girl.  That 
troubled  me  little,  for  in  spite  of  my  modesty,  I  was 
conceited  enough  to  think  that  my  golden  hair  could 
rival  the  jet  tresses  of  Andalusia.  I  learned  also  that 
you  wrote  in  reviews  under  the  Latinised  pseudonym 
of  one  of  your  given  names,  known  only  to  your  inti- 
mate friends,  and  that  the  well-bred  gentleman  in  you 
concealed  a  distinguished  writer.  With  a  curiosity  you 
can  easily  understand,  I  sought  in  the  files  of  news- 
papers all  the  articles  marked  by  that  sign.  To  read  a 
writer  is  to  place  yourself  in  communication  with  his 
mind,  for  is  not  a  book  confidences  addressed  to  an 
ideal  friend,  a  conversation  from  which  the  interlocutor 
is  absent  ?  One  must  not  always  take  literally  what 
the  author  says  ;  one  must  allow  for  philosophical  or 
literary  systems,  for  fashionable  affectations  of  the  day, 
for  necessary  reticence,  for  the  style  which  imposes 


126 


SPI  RITE 


itself  on  him,  for  admiring  imitations,  and  whatever 
may  modify  the  exterior  form  of  a  writer ;  but  under  all 
these  disguises  the  true  attitude  of  the  soul  at  last  reveals 
itself  to  the  real  reader,  the  genuine  thought  is  often  to 
be  seen  between  the  lines,  and  the  poet's  secret,  which 
he  does  not  choose  to  tell  to  the  crowd,  is  at  least  to 
be  guessed.  One  after  another  the  veils  fall  and  the 
answers  to  the  riddles  are  learned.  In  order  to  get  an 
idea  of  you,  I  studied  with  great  attention  your  accounts 
of  travel,  your  articles  on  philosophy  and  criticism, 
your  tales  and  the  pieces  of  verse  scattered  here  and 
there  at  rather  long  intervals,  and  which  marked  the 
various  phases  of  your  mind.  It  is  less  difficult  to 
learn  to  know  a  subjective  author  than  an  objective. 
The  former  expresses  his  own  feelings,  exposes  his 
ideas,  and  judges  society  and  creation  in  virtue  of  an 
ideal.  The  second  presents  objects  such  as  they  are  in 
nature ;  he  proceeds  by  images,  by  description ;  he 
brings  things  under  the  reader's  eyes;  he  draws,  dresses 
up,  colours  his  personages  accurately,  puts  in  their 
mouths  what  they  ought  to  have  said,  and  keeps  his 
own  opinion  to  himself.  That  is  your  way  of  doing. 
At  first  sight  you  might  have  been  accused  of  a  certain 
disdainful  impartiality  which  did  not  see  much  differ- 


127 


*  ±*  *  *  *  ±  £  &  4:  ***********  *  ** 

SPIRITE 


ence  between  a  lizard  and  a  man,  between  the  glow  of 
a  sunset  and  the  glow  of  a  conflagration  ;  but  by  read- 
ing more  closely  and  judging  by  certain  sudden  out- 
breaks, swift  rushes  at  once  checked,  I  could  divine 
that  you  were  possessed  of  deep  feeling  maintained  by 
a  haughty  reserve,  which  did  not  care  to  allow  your 
emotions  to  be  seen. 

"  This  judgment  of  you  as  a  writer  harmonised  with 
the  instinctive  judgment  of  my  heart,  and  now  that 
nothing  is  concealed  from  me  I  know  how  true  it  was. 
All  sentimental  trifling  and  hypocritically  virtuous 
magniloquence,  you  had  in  horror,  and  in  your  opinion 
the  worst  of  crimes  was  to  deceive  the  soul.  That 
made  you  excessively  shy  of  expressing  tender  or  pas- 
sionate feelings ;  you  preferred  silence  to  falsehood  or 
exaggeration  in  such  sacred  matters,  even  though  fools 
considered  you  insensible,  hard,  and  even  cruel.  I  at 
once  perceived  this,  and  not  for  a  moment  did  I  doubt 
that  you  were  kind-hearted.  As  to  the  nobility  of 
your  mind,  there  could  be  not  the  least  uncertainty. 
Your  proud  disdain  of  vulgarity,  of  commonplaceness, 
enviousness,  and  all  moral  ugliness  amply  proved  it. 
By  dint  of  reading  you,  I  learned  to  know  you,  whom 
I  had  seen  but  once,  as  well  as  if  I  had  met  you  inti- 


128 


4;  4;  4;  4;  4;  4»  4»  4;  4;  4»  <h  4j4»4»4»4»4»4»4»4j4y  4»  4»4* 

SPIRITE 


mately  every  day.  I  penetrated  the  intimate  recesses 
of  your  thought  and  knew  your  starting-point,  your 
motives,  sympathies,  antipathies,  what  you  desired, 
what  you  disliked,  —  in  a  word,  your  whole  mental 
being,  —  and  from  it  I  deduced  what  your  character 
must  be.  Sometimes  when  reading,  struck  by  a  pas- 
sage which  was  a  revelation  to  me,  I  would  rise  and 
go  to  the  piano,  and  play,  as  a  comment  on  your 
sentences,  motives  analogous  in  colour  and  sentiment 
which  prolonged  the  passage  in  sonorous  or  melancholy 
vibrations.  I  enjoyed  hearing  in  another  way  the  echo 
of  your  thought.  Perhaps  these  relations  were  imagi- 
nary and  could  have  been  seized  by  none  but  myself, 
but  unquestionably  some  of  them  were  real.  I  know 
it  now  that  I  dwell  in  the  eternal  source  of  inspiration, 
and  that  I  see  it  fall  like  luminous  sparks  upon  the 
head  of  genius. 

"  While  reading  those  of  your  works  which  I  could 
procure,  —  for  the  range  of  action  of  a  young  girl  is  so 
narrow  that  the  smallest  step  is  difficult  for  her,  —  the 
season  was  advancing,  the  trees  were  turning  yellow 
with  the  golden  tints  of  late  autumn,  the  leaves,  one 
after  another,  fell  from  the  branches,  and  the  gardener, 
in  spite  of  his  care,  could  not  prevent  the  sward  and 


9 


129 


SPI  RITE 


the  gravel  from  being  thickly  covered  with  them. 
Sometimes,  when  I  wandered  in  the  garden  under  the 
chestnut  trees,  the  fall  of  a  chestnut  falling  on  my 
head  like  a  ball  or  rolling  at  my  feet  out  of  its  broken 
husk,  interrupted  my  reverie  and  made  me  involuntarily 
start.  The  delicate  plants  and  shrubs  were  being  taken 
into  the  hot-house,  the  birds  had  the  uneasy  look  which 
they  have  at  the  approach  of  winter,  and  at  evening  I 
could  hear  them  quarrelling  on  the  bare  branches. 
The  season  was  about  to  begin  ;  society  was  returning 
to  Paris  from  every  point  of  the  horizon.  On  the 
Champs  Elysees  were  again  to  be  seen  carriages  with 
coats  of  arms  on  the  panels  driven  slowly  up  towards 
the  Arc  de  l'Etoile  to  enjoy  the  last  rays  of  the  sun ; 
the  Theatre-Italien  published  its  list  of  singers  and  its 
repertoire,  and  announced  the  forthcoming  opening.  I 
rejoiced  at  the  thought  that  this  general  movement  of 
return  would  bring  you  back  from  Spain  and  that, 
weary  of  the  gloomy  sierras,  you  would  enjoy  coming 
to  receptions,  parties,  and  balls,  where  I  hoped  I  might 
meet  you. 

"  Once,  while  driving  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  with 
my  mother,  I  saw  you  ride  by  our  carriage,  but  so 
swiftly  that  I  had  scarcely  time  to  recognise  you.  It 


130 


4^4;  4;  4;  4;  4.  4;  4;  4»  4*  4*4.4.4.  4*  4^  4;  4;  4;  4;  4j  4*4; 

SPI RITE 

was  the  first  time  that  I  had  seen  you  since  your  visit 
to  the  convent.  My  blood  rushed  to  my  heart  and  I 
felt  a  sort  of  electric  shock.  Under  pretext  of  feeling 
the  cold,  I  lowered  my  veil  to  conceal  the  change  in  my 
face,  and  I  sank  silently  back  into  the  corner  of  the 
carriage.  My  mother  pulled  up  the  window  and  said  : 
'It  is  not  warm.  A  mist  is  coming  up  and  we  had 
better  return,  unless  you  wish  to  drive  on.'  I  nodded 
assent.  I  had  learned  what  I  wished  to  learn ;  I  knew 
that  you  were  in  Paris. 

"  We  used  to  go  to  the  Opera  once  a  week.  It  was 
a  great  treat  to  me  to  hear  the  singers  of  whom  I  had 
heard  so  much,  but  whom  I  did  not  know.  Another 
hope  also  stirred  my  heart  j  I  need  not  tell  you  what  it 
was.  Our  day  came.  Patti  was  to  sing  1  La  Sonnam- 
bula.'  My  mother  had  had  made  for  me  a  pretty, 
simple,  dress  suited  to  my  age :  an  underskirt  of  white 
taffeta  with  an  overskirt  of  tarlatan,  and  bows  of  blue 
velvet  and  pearls.  My  hair  was  dressed  with  a  band 
of  velvet  of  the  same  colour,  with  pearls  twisted  around 
it  and  the  ends  falling  down  on  my  shoulders.  As  I 
looked  in  my  mirror  while  my  maid  was  putting  on 
the  last  touches,  I  asked  myself,  '  Is  he  fond  of  blue  ? ' 
In  Alfred  de  Musset's  'Caprice,'  Mme.  de  Lery  says 

131 


it***************:******** 

SPI RITE 


it  is  a  stupid  colour.  And  yet  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing that  the  blue  ribbon  looked  very  well  with  my 
golden  hair.  If  you  had  seen  me,  I  think  you  would 
have  loved  me.  Clotilde,  my  maid,  as  she  arranged  the 
folds  of  the  dress  and  the  bows  on  my  bodice,  said 
that  I  was  very  pretty  that  evening. 

"  The  carriage  deposited  my  mother  and  myself  in 
front  of  the  peristyle,  —  my  father  was  to  join  us  later, 
—  and  we  began  slowly  to  ascend  the  great,  red-carpeted 
staircase.  The  warm  atmosphere  was  perfumed  with 
cuscus  and  patchouli ;  ladies  in  full  dress,  their  gowns 
still  concealed  by  the  mantles,  pelisses,  burnouses,  scarfs, 
and  opera  cloaks  which  they  were  presently  to  hand  to 
their  lackeys,  were  ascending  the  stairs,  their  long  trains 
of  watered  silk,  satin,  and  velvet  trailing  behind  them, 
and  resting  their  hands  on  the  arm  of  grave  men  in 
white  neckties,  whose  black  coats  had  in  the  button- 
hole strings  of  orders,  which  meant  that  they  intended, 
after  the  opera,  to  proceed  to  some  official  or  diplomatic 
reception.  Tall,  slender  young  fellows,  their  hair  parted 
in  the  middle,  most  correctly  and  elegantly  dressed, 
followed  close  behind,  drawn  to  a  group  by  a  smile. 

"  All  this  is  no  novelty  to  you,  and  you  would  paint 
the  picture  better  than  I,  but  the  sight  was  new  to  a 


132 


db  tlr  4:  db  *  db  4?  tb         dbtb  tb  tb  tb  tb  rb  4: 4:  tS?   sfc  t& 

SPIRITE 

little  boarding-school  girl  making  her  entrance  into 
society.  Life  is  always  the  same.  It  is  like  a  play  in 
which  the  spectators  alone  change ;  but  one  who  has 
not  seen  the  performance  is  interested  in  it  as  if  it  were 
made  purposely  for  him  and  were  being  given  for  the 
first  time.  I  was  happy.  I  felt  I  was  beautiful ;  ap- 
proving glances  had  been  cast  upon  me ;  some  women 
had  looked  around  after  having  examined  me  with  a 
rapid  glance,  and  found  nothing  to  blame  either  in  my 
dress  or  my  coiffure. 

"  I  had  a  secret  presentiment  that  I  should  see  you 
that  evening.  This  hope  imparted  a  slight  animation 
to  my  features  and  flushed  my  cheeks  more  brilliantly 
than  usual.  We  sat  down  in  our  box,  and  soon  glasses 
were  turned  upon  me.  Mine  was  a  new  face,  and 
new  faces  are  quickly  noted  at  the  Opera,  which  is  like 
a  great  drawing-room  where  everybody  knows  every- 
body else.  My  mother's  presence  told  people  who  I 
was,  and  I  understood  from  the  way  they  bent  towards 
each  other  that  I  was  being  talked  about  in  several 
boxes,  favourably  no  doubt,  for  kindly  smiles  followed 
the  whispered  sentences.  I  felt  somewhat  awkward 
at  being  the  observed  of  all  observers;  wearing  a  low- 
necked  dress  for  the  first  time,  I  felt  my  shoulders 


J33 


jbilr  .It  'ir         '-■*  *^*  tl?  db1        !§■  db  sl?«3»2li  tfe  ?tr  4?  tfctt? 

SPIRITE 


shiver  under  the  gauze  which  covered  them  with  its 
semi-transparency.  The  rise  of  the  curtain  —  for  the 
overture  had  been  little  listened  to  —  made  every  one 
look  towards  the  stage  and  put  an  end  to  my  embar- 
rassment. Undoubtedly  the  aspect  of  that  beautiful 
hall  starred  with  diamonds  and  bouquets,  with  its 
gilding,  its  footlights,  its  white  caryatids,  awoke  in  me 
both  surprise  and  admiration,  and  Bellini's  music  per- 
formed by  artists  of  the  first  rank  carried  me  away  into 
a  world  of  enchantment ;  yet  the  real  interest  of  the 
evening  did  not  lie  there  so  far  as  I  was  concerned. 
While  my  ears  listened  to  the  suave  melodies  of  the 
Sicilian  composer,  my  eyes  were  timidly  examining 
every  box,  roaming  over  the  balcony,  and  examining 
the  orchestra  stalls  in  order  to  discover  you.  The 
first  act  was  nearly  ended  before  you  came,  and  when 
the  curtain  was  rung  down,  you  turned  half  round 
towards  the  auditorium,  looking  rather  bored  and 
gazing  at  the  boxes  indifferently  without  letting  your 
glance  rest  on  any  one  in  particular.  Your  complex- 
ion was  browned  by  six  months'  travel  in  Spain,  and 
there  was  on  your  face  a  certain  expression  of  nostalgia, 
as  if  you  regretted  the  country  you  had  left.  My  heart 
beat  loudly  while  you  were  making  this  rapid  inspec- 

134 


»K  »4»      •!<*  »A»  »A»  »A»  »A»  *i*  «j^«jtt«^»4»^»»i»»||»*i»ti<*l»»j«^i*  A*^; 

SPI  RITE 


tion,  and  for  a  moment  I  thought  your  glance  had 
noted  me,  but  I  was  mistaken.  I  saw  you  leave  your 
seat  and  reappear  shortly  afterwards  in  a  box  opposite 
our  own.  It  was  occupied  by  a  pretty  woman  very 
splendidly  dressed,  whose  black  hair  shone  like  satin. 
Her  pale  rose-coloured  dress  was  almost  undistinguish- 
able  from  the  flesh  tones  of  her  bosom ;  diamonds 
sparkled  in  her  hair,  in  her  ears,  on  her  neck  and  her 
arms.  On  the  velvet-covered  rail  by  the  side  of  her 
opera-glasses  bloomed  a  great  bouquet  of  Parma  violets 
and  camellias.  At  the  back,  in  the  shadow,  I  could 
make  out  an  old,  bald-headed,  obese  person,  the  lappel 
of  whose  coat  half-concealed  the  star  of  some  foreign 
order.  The  lady  spoke  to  you  with  unmistakable 
pleasure  and  you  replied  to  her  in  a  careless,  easy  way, 
without  seeming  to  be  particularly  taken  with  her  more 
than  friendly  manner.  My  disappointment  at  not 
having  been  noticed  by  you  was  compensated  for  by 
the  joy  of  feeling  that  you  did  not  love  that  bold-eyed 
woman  with  the  alluring  smile  and  the  dazzling 
toilet. 

"A  few  minutes  later, as  the  musicians  began  to  tune 
up  for  the  second  act,  you  took  leave  of  the  lady  with 
the  diamonds  and  the  old  gentleman  with  the  foreign 


!35 


SPIRITE 


order,  and  returned  to  your  seat.  The  performance 
ended  without  your  turning  your  head  once,  and  in  my 
soul  I  felt  annoyed  with  you.  I  wondered  that  you 
could  not  guess  that  a  young  girl  in  a  white  dress  with 
blue  bows  wanted  very  much  to  be  looked  at  by  the 
man  she  had  secretly  chosen.  I  had  so  long  wished  to 
find  myself  in  the  same  place  as  you  ;  my  wish  was 
granted,  and  you  did  not  even  suspect  that  I  was  pres- 
ent. You  ought  to  have  felt,  it  seemed  to  me,  a  sym- 
pathetic thrill ;  you  ought  to  have  turned  around  and 
looked  slowly  through  the  hall  impelled  by  a  secret 
emotion ;  your  glance  should  have  stopped  on  the  box 
I  was  in,  and  you  should  have  put  your  hand  to  your 
heart  and  fallen  into  an  ecstasy.  The  hero  of  a  novel 
would  not  have  failed  to  do  so.  But  you  were  not  the 
hero  of  a  novel. 

"  My  father,  who  had  had  to  go  to  a  state  dinner, 
came  in  the  middle  of  the  second  act  only,  and  seeing 
you  in  the  orchestra  stalls,  he  said,  '  Why  !  there  is 
Guy  de  Malivert  !  I  did  not  know  that  he  had  re- 
turned from  Spain.  His  trip  means  for  us  endless 
bull-fights  in  the  Review,  for  Guy  is  a  bit  of  a  bar- 
barian.' I  delighted  in  hearing  your  name  spoken  by 
my  father's  lips.    You  were  not  unknown  to  my 

136 


^db?j?^??l?db.v«?  db  ~?  tl?  ^dbtfedbt8?sl?«b     jbsi?  tfetfe 

SPI RI TE 


family  ;  we  might  therefore  meet.  It  would  be  easy 
indeed  to  do  so.  I  was  thus  somewhat  consoled  for 
the  lack  of  success  I  had  met  with  that  evening.  The 
performance  closed  without  any  other  incident  than 
showers  of  bouquets,  recalls,  and  ovations  to  Patti. 
While  waiting  in  the  vestibule  until  our  footman 
announced  our  carriage,  I  saw  you  pass  with  a  friend 
and  draw  a  cigar  from  a  case  of  fine  Manila  esparto. 
The  desire  to  smoke  made  you  careless,  I  am  bound  to 
say,  of  the  exhibition  of  beauties  and  ugly  women,  who 
were  ranged  upon  the  lower  steps  of  the  staircase. 
You  made  your  way  through  the  mass  of  dresses, 
caring  little  whether  or  not  you  rumpled  them,  and 
you  soon  reached  the  door  with  your  friend  following 
in  your  wake. 

"  On  returning  home,  happy  and  dissatisfied,  I  went 
to  bed  after  having  tried  with  no  great  success  some 
of  the  melodies  of  4  La  Sonnambula,'  as  if  to  prolong 
the  vibrations  of  the  evening ;  and  then  I  went  to 
sleep,  thinking  of  you. 


137 


SPI RITE 

Jl,  »l<     rtj.  .Ji-.  «i,  «jr»  *i»  ^"jI? tI?  it?  jfctfe  tf?  tf?  t~?     tf?  TsTTf? 


IX 

ONE  often  finds  when,  after  a  certain  time  the 
remembrance  and  the  image  are  compared, 
that  imagination  has  worked  like  a  painter, 
who  goes  on  with  a  portrait  in  the  absence  of  his 
model,  softening  the  surfaces,  graduating  the  tints, 
making  the  contours  melt  one  into  another,  and  bring- 
ing back,  in  spite  of  himself,  the  portrait  to  his  own 
particular  ideal.  I  had  not  seen  you  for  more  than 
three  years,  but  my  heart  had  accurately  preserved  the 
memory  of  your  face.  Only,  you  had  changed  some- 
what ;  your  features  had  become  firmer  and  more  ac- 
centuated, and  the  sunburn  of  travel  had  imparted  to 
your  complexion  a  warmer  and  more  vigorous  colour. 
The  man  showed  more  in  the  young  man,  and  you 
had  that  air  of  tranquil  authority  and  assured  force 
which  takes  women  perhaps  more  than  beauty.  None 
the  less  I  preserved  carefully  within  my  soul  the  first 
drawing,  the  slight  sketch  of  the  being  who  was  to 
have  so  much  influence  over  me,  just  as  one  preserves 


j|*    ^J?  »|£     ^»     •!»  ^^^^^^^•^•§*«§**§**§*  tS?tf?t8? 
SPI RITE 


a  miniature  of  the  youth  by  the  side  of  the  portrait  of 
later  days.  My  dreams  had  not  harmed  you,  and  I 
was  not  obliged,  when  I  saw  you  again,  to  strip  you 
of  a  mantle  of  fancied  perfections.  I  thought  of  all 
this,  curled  up  in  my  bed  and  watching  the  gleam  of 
the  night-light  trembling  on  the  blue  roses  of  the  car- 
pet, while  awaiting  sleep  that  did  not  come,  but  which 
towards  morning  closed  my  eyes,  mingling  vague  har- 
monies with  disconnected  dreams. 

"  A  few  weeks  later  we  received  an  invitation  to  a 

great  ball  given  by  the  Duchess  de  C  .    For  a 

young  girl  her  first  ball  is  an  event.  This  one  was 
the  more  interesting  to  me  that  it  was  likely  you  would 
be  at  it,  the  Duchess  being  a  great  friend  of  yours. 
Balls  are  our  battles  which  we  win  or  lose.  It  is  there 
that  the  young  girl,  issuing  from  the  shadows  of  the 
gynaeceum,  shines  in  all  her  splendour.  Custom 
grants  her  during  this  short  space  of  time,  under  the 
pretext  of  dancing,  a  sort  of  relative  freedom,  and  the 
ball  is  to  her  like  the  foyer  of  the  Opera  where  domin- 
oes walk  with  uncovered  faces.  She  may  be  ap- 
proached with  an  invitation  to  dance  a  quadrille  or  a 
mazurka,  and  during  the  figures  of  a  country-dance 
she  may  even  be  spoken  to  j  but  very  often  the  long 


J39 


 SPI RITE  

list  on  her  engagement  card  does  not  contain  the  one 
name  that  she  really  has  longed  for. 

"  I  had  to  think  of  my  dress,  for  a  ball  dress  is  a 
poem,  and  that  of  a  young  girl  is  a  very  difficult  thing 
to  make  up.  It  has  to  be  both  simple  and  rich  ;  that 
is  to  say,  it  must  possess  contrary  characteristics.  A 
light  dress  entirely  white  would  not  have  been  the 
thing,  so  I  made  up  my  mind,  after  a  good  deal  of 
hesitation,  to  have  a  skirt  and  overskirt  of  gauze 
worked  with  silver,  caught  up  with  bouquets  of  forget- 
me-nots,  the  blue  of  which  matched  admirably  the 
turquoise  set  which  my  father  had  purchased  for  me. 
Clusters  of  turquoises,  imitating  the  flowers  scattered 
over  my  dress,  formed  my  head-dress.  Thus  attired, 
I  fancied  myself  capable  of  showing  not  too  disadvan- 
tageous^ among  the  splendid  toilets  and  the  famous 
beauties.  Indeed,  for  a  mere  child  of  earth,  I  looked 
rather  well. 

"  The  Duchess  de  C  inhabited  one  of  those 

vast  mansions  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  built 
for  the  splendid  lives  of  other  days,  mansions  which 
modern  life  finds  it  difficult  to  fill.  It  takes  the  crowd 
and  splendour  of  a  feast  to  animate  them  as  of  yore. 
From  the  outside  no  one  would  have  suspected  the 

140 


SPI  RITE 


extent  of  this  princely  mansion.  A  high  wall  between 
two  houses  with  a  monumental  carriage-gate,  over 
which,  in  gilt  letters  upon  a  tablet  of  green  marble, 

was  written,  1  Hotel  de  C  ,'  was  all  that  could  be 

seen  from  the  street.  A  long  avenue  of  old  lime-trees, 
trimmed  in  the  shape  of  an  arch  after  the  old  French 
fashion  and  which  winter  had  stripped  of  their 
leaves,  led  to  a  vast  court  at  the  back  of  which  rose 
the  mansion,  built  in  the  pure  Louis  XIV  style,  with 
high  windows,  columns  half  engaged  and  mansard 
attics,  like  the  architecture  of  Versailles.  A  red  and 
white  awning,  supported  by  carved  uprights,  projected 
over  the  red-carpeted  steps.  I  had  time  to  examine  all 
these  details  by  the  light  given  out  by  the  clusters  of 
lamps,  for  the  guests,  though  select,  were  numerous, 
and  we  had  to  fall  in  line  just  as  at  a  great  reception. 
The  carriage  drew  up  before  the  steps,  and  we  handed 
our  pelisses  to  our  footman.  By  a  glass  door,  the 
leaves  of  which  he  opened  and  shut,  stood  a  gigantic 
porter  with  splendid  broad  shoulders.  In  the  vestibule 
we  passed  between  two  lines  of  footmen  in  full  livery 
and  powdered ;  every  one  of  them  tall,  motionless, 
and  perfectly  serious.  They  looked  like  domestic 
caryatids,  and  seemed  to  feel  that  it  was  an  honour  to 

141 


4,4.4.4*4, 4, 4.4,  &&:fcdHbdb&4b:fedbdkdbdkdb!Hb 

SPIRITE 


be  lackeys  in  such  a  house.  The  whole  of  the  stair- 
case, in  which  a  small  palace  of  to-day  could  easily 
have  been  put,  was  lined  with  huge  camellias.  At 
every  landing  great  mirrors  allowed  the  ladies  to  repair, 
as  they  went  up,  the  slight  disorder  caused  in  a  ball 
toilet  by  mantles,  light  as  they  may  be,  and  which 
was  shown  by  the  brilliant  blaze  of  a  chandelier 
that  hung,  sustained  by  a  golden  cord,  from  a  cupola 
where  in  azure  and  clouds  the  brush  of  some  pupil  of 
Lebrun  or  Mignard  had  painted  a  boldly  foreshortened 
mythological  allegory  in  the  taste  of  his  day. 

"Between  the  windows  were  landscapes,  oblong  in 
shape,  severe  in  style,  and  dark  in  colour,  which  might 
have  been  attributed  to  Poussin,  or  at  least  to  Gaspard 
Dughet;  so,  at  least,  thought  a  famous  painter  who 
was  going  up  the  stairs  by  our  side,  and  who  had  put 
his  glass  to  his  eye  to  examine  them  more  closelv.  At 
the  turn  of  the  stairs,  upon  the  steps  of  the  balustrade, 
which  was  a  marvel  of  iron  work,  were  statues  of  marble 
by  Lepautre  and  Theodon,  bearing  candelabra  the  bril- 
liancy of  which  equalled  that  of  the  chandelier,  so  that 
the  feast,  thanks  to  the  splendour  of  the  light,  began 
even  on  the  staircase.  At  the  door  of  the  antechamber, 
hung  with  Gobelins  tapestries  after  cartoons  by  Oudry, 


142 


».U     rl%  ^L,  ol«  »1»  «4»  *4»  ^»  j^tr?  tf?  tf?  tf?  tI? tfe     tt? t§?  ii?  ■(? ^£ 

SPIRITE 

and  wainscotted  in  old  oak,  stood  an  usher  dressed  in 
black  with  a  silver  chain  around  his  neck,  who  in  a 
voice  more  or  less  loud  according  to  the  importance  of 
the  title,  called  out  into  the  first  drawing-room  the 
names  of  the  guests. 

"The  Duke,  tall,  thin,  made  up  of  long  lines  like  a 
thorough-bred  greyhound,  had  a  distinguished,  aristo- 
cratic air,  and  in  spite  of  his  age,  preserved  traces 
of  his  former  elegance.  Even  in  the  street,  no  one 
could  have  mistaken  his  rank.  Standing  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  door,  he  received  the  invited  guests 
with  a  gracious  word,  a  hand-shake,  a  bow,  a  nod,  a 
smile,  with  a  sure  appreciation  of  what  was  due  to 
each,  and  with  such  perfect  grace  that  every  one  was 
satisfied  and  believed  himself  specially  favoured.  He 
bowed  to  my  mother  in  a  respectful,  friendly  way,  and 
as  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  me,  he  spoke  in  a 
few  words  a  semi-paternal,  semi-gallant  madrigal  that 
smacked  of  the  old  Court.  Near  the  mantel-piece  stood 
the  Duchess,  rouged  with  utter  carelessness  of  illusion, 
plainly  wearing  a  wig  and  exhibiting  historical  dia- 
monds upon  her  thin  bosom  intrepidly  low-necked. 
She  was  an  uncommonly  witty  woman,  and  under  her 
broad  brown  eyelids  her  eyes  still  shone  with  extraordi- 


143 


SPI  R  I  TE 


nary  brilliancy.  She  wore  a  dress  of  dark-garnet  velvet 
with  great  flounces  of  English  point-lace,  and  a  row  of 
diamonds  at  her  bodice.  With  a  careless  hand  she 
fanned  herself  with  a  large  fan  painted  by  Watteau, 
while  she  spoke  to  the  persons  who  came  to  pay  their 
respects.  She  looked  uncommonly  aristocratic.  She 
exchanged  a  few  words  with  my  mother  who  presented 
me  to  her,  and  as  I  bowed,  she  touched  my  brow  with 
her  cold  lips  and  said,  '  Go,  dear,  and  be  sure  not  to 
miss  a  single  dance.' 

"  This  ceremony  over,  we  entered  the  next  drawing- 
room,  which  led  to  the  ball-room.  On  the  red  damask 
hangings,  in  magnificent  frames  contemporary  with  the 
paintings  themselves,  hung  family  portraits  that  were 
not  put  there  through  aristocratic  pride,  but  simply  as 
masterpieces  of  art.  They  were  by  Clouet,  Porbus, 
Van  Dyck,  Philippe  de  Champagne  and  de  Largilliere, 
and  every  one  was  worthy  of  being  placed  in  the  Trib- 
une of  a  museum.  What  I  enjoyed  about  the  luxury 
in  this  house  was  that  nothing  was  recent.  The  paint- 
ings, the  gilding,  the  damasks,  the  brocades,  though  not 
faded,  were  dulled  and  did  not  annoy  the  eye  by  the  loud 
brilliancy  of  newness.  One  felt  that  the  wealth  was 
of  long  standing,  and  that  things  had  always  been  so. 


144 


SPIRITE 


The  ball-room  was  of  a  size  now  scarcely  met  with 
save  in  palaces.  Numerous  standing-lamps  and  brack- 
et-lamps placed  in  the  bays  between  the  windows 
formed  with  their  thousands  of  tapers  a  sort  of  luminous 
conflagration  through  which  the  azure  paintings  of  the 
ceiling  with  their  wreaths  of  nymphs  and  cupids  showed 
as  through  a  rosy  vapour.  In  spite  of  the  brilliant  light 
the  room  was  so  large  that  there  was  no  lack  of  air 
and  one  breathed  comfortably.  The  orchestra  was 
placed  in  a  sort  of  gallery  at  the  end  of  the  room  in  a 
grove  of  rare  plants.  On  velvet  benches  arranged  in 
semicircles  were  rows  of  ladies  dazzlingly  dressed  if 
not  dazzlingly  beautiful,  though  there  were  some  very 
pretty  ones.  The  sight  was  superb.  We  happened  to 
come  in  exactly  between  two  dances  and,  seated  near 
my  mother  on  the  end  of  a  bench  which  happened  to 
be  free,  I  gazed  on  this  spectacle,  new  to  me,  with 
astonishment  and  curiosity.  The  gentlemen,  hav- 
ing taken  their  partners  back  to  their  seats,  were 
walking  about  in  the  centre  of  the  room  looking  to 
right  and  left,  as  if  reviewing  the  women  before  mak- 
ing their  choice.  It  was  the  youthful  time  of  the  ball, 
for  somewhat  mature  men  do  not  now  dance.  There 
were  young  attaches  of  embassies,  and  secretaries  of 


145 


sfc  .5?  *^  *^*  *^* *  jjj  tlr  i'  ^  tir  tir  tir  tir  t^r  t^r  c^?  tsSttI? 
 SPIRITE  

legations,  auditors  of  the  Council  of  State  in  expecta- 
tion, beardless  masters  of  requests,  officers  who  had 
gone  through  their  first  campaign,  clubmen  diplomati- 
cally serious,  youthful  sportsmen  thinking  of  keeping  a 
stud,  dandies  whose  whiskers  were  not  much  more 
than  down,  and  eldest  sons  with  the  precocious 
authority  of  a  great  name  and  of  a  great  fortune. 
Among  these  young  people  were  a  few  serious  person- 
ages covered  with  orders,  whose  polished  heads  shone 
like  ivory  in  the  light  of  the  lustres,  or  were  concealed 
under  wigs  either  too  dark  or  too  fair.  As  they  passed 
by,  they  addressed  polite  remarks  to  the  dowagers  con- 
temporary with  their  own  youth,  then  turning  aside, 
they  would  examine  like  experts  and  disinterested  con- 
noisseurs the  feminine  harem  outspread  before  their 
eyes  and  their  glasses.  The  first  strains  of  the 
orchestra  made  them  retrograde  as  quickly  as  their 
gouty  feet  allowed  towards  quieter  drawing-rooms, 
where  at  tables  lighted  by  tapers  covered  with  green 
shades  they  played  at  bouillotte  or  ecarte. 

"You  will  readily  believe  that  I  did  not  lack  dancers. 
A  young  Hungarian  in  his  magnate's  dress,  braided, 
embroidered,  studded  with  buttons  of  precious  stones, 
bowed  gracefully  to  me  and  asked  me  for  a  mazurka. 


146 


k  db  rk  "k    db  db  "k  "k  "k  "k  dbsb  tb  tb  rb  tb  tb  :b  4:  :S?  k  k  k 

SPIRITE 


His  features  were  regular,  romantically  pale,  with 
great,  black,  somewhat  shy  eyes,  and  mustaches  as 
sharp  as  needles.  An  Englishman  of  twenty-two  or 
twenty-three  who  resembled  Lord  Byron  except  that 
he  was  not  lame,  the  attache  of  a  Northern  court,  and 
some  others  wrote  their  names  at  once  on  my  card. 
Although  the  old  dancing  master  at  the  convent  used 
to  boast  of  me  as  being  one  of  his  best  and  most  grace- 
ful pupils,  and  praised  my  lightness  and  my  feeling  for 
time,  I  was  not,  I  confess,  entirely  at  my  ease;  I  felt, 
as  the  papers  say,  the  emotions  inseparable  from  a 
debut.  It  seemed  to  me,  as  shy  people  always  fancy, 
that  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me.  Fortunately  my 
Hungarian  partner  was  an  excellent  dancer  who  helped 
out  my  first  attempts,  and  soon,  carried  away  by  the 
music,  intoxicated  by  the  motion,  I  regained  assurance 
and  allowed  myself  to  be  spun  into  the  whirlpool  of 
floating  skirts  with  a  sort  of  pleasurable  excitement. 
Yet  I  never  forgot  my  usual  thought  and  my  object  in 
coming  to  the  ball.  As  I  passed  bv  the  dancers,  with 
a  rapid  glance  I  tried  to  see  if  you  were  in  the  other 
rooms.  I  at  last  caught  sight  of  you  in  the  recess  of 
a  window,  talking  with  a  dark-faced,  long-nosed,  black- 
bearded  man  wearing  a  red  fez,  in  the  uniform  of  the 


47 


SPI RITE 


Nizam,  with  the  Medjidieh  order  on  his  breast,  no  doubt 
either  a  bey  or  a  pacha.  When  the  whirl  of  the  dance 
brought  me  back,  there  you  were  still  speaking  with 
animation  to  your  orientally  placid  Turk,  not  deigning 
to  cast  a  glance  at  the  pretty  faces  that  passed  before 
you,  flushed  by  the  dance,  in  the  shimmer  of  light. 

"  Nevertheless  I  did  not  lose  hope,  and  for  the  time 
I  was  satisfied  to  know  that  you  were  there.  Besides, 
the  evening  was  not  over,  and  some  fortunate  chance 
might  bring  us  together.  My  partner  took  me  back 
to  my  seat,  and  again  the  men  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  space  circumscribed  by  the  benches.  You 
took  a  turn  with  your  Turk  through  the  moving  multi- 
tude, looking  at  the  ladies  and  the  toilets,  but  with 
no  more  interest  than  you  might  have  looked  at  pictures 
or  statues.  From  time  to  time  you  made  a  remark  to 
your  friend  the  pacha,  who  smiled  gravely.  I  could  see 
you  doing  all  this  through  my  fan,  which  I  closed,  I 
confess,  when  you  approached  the  place  where  we  were 
seated.  My  heart  beat  high  and  I  felt  myself  blush  to 
the  shoulders.  It  was  impossible  this  time  that  I 
should  escape  your  notice,  for  you  walked  as  close  to 
the  benches  as  the  dazzling  fringe  of  gauze,  lace,  and 
flounces  which  overflowed,  allowed  you  to  do;  but 

148 


SPIRITE 


unfortunately  two  or  three  friends  of  my  mother's 
stopped  before  us  and  paid  her  compliments,  some  of 
which  were  addressed  to  me.  This  screen  of  black 
coats  masked  me  entirely.  You  had  to  go  around  the 
group  and  I  remained  invisible,  though  I  did  bend  my 
head  somewhat  in  the  hope  that  you  might  see  me. 
But  you  could  not  guess  that  those  black  coats,  respect- 
fully inclined,  concealed  from  you  a  rather  pretty  girl 
who  thought  of  no  one  but  you  and  who  had  come  to 
the  ball  on  your  account  alone.  I  saw  you  leave  the 
room  by  the  other  end,  the  Turk's  red  cap  being  the 
mark  by  which  I  followed  you  in  the  maze  of  dark 
coats  which  answer  for  a  festival  as  well  as  for  mourn- 
ing. My  enjoyment  vanished  and  I  seemed  dreadfully 
discouraged.  Ironical  Fate  seemed  to  enjoy  teasing 
me  and  taking  you  away  from  me.  I  danced  the 
dances  I  was  engaged  for,  and  pretending  to  be  some- 
what tired,  I  refused  other  invitations.  The  play  had 
lost  its  charm  for  me,  the  dresses  seemed  faded,  and  the 
lights  turning  dim.  My  father,  who  was  playing  cards 
in  another  room  and  who  had  lost  some  hundred  louis 
to  an  old  gentleman,  came  in  to  take  us  around  the 
apartments,  and  show  us  the  hot-house  into  which  the 
last  room  led,  which  was  reputed  to  be  marvellous ;  in- 


149 


 SPI  RITE  

deed,  nothing  could  be  more  magnificent.  It  was  like 
a  virgin  forest,  so  vigorously  did  the  banana  trees,  the 
shaddocks,  the  palms,  and  other  tropical  plants  grow  in 
the  warm  atmosphere  saturated  with  exquisite  perfumes. 
At  the  end  of  the  hot-house  a  white  marble  naiad  poured 
out  the  waters  of  her  urn  into  a  gigantic  shell  of  the 
Southern  Seas  surrounded  by  a  mass  of  waterplants. 
There  I  caught  sight  of  you  again.  You  had  your 
sister  on  your  arm,  but  you  were  ahead  of  us  and  we 
could  not  meet  you,  for  we  followed  in  the  same  direc- 
tion the  narrow  path,  covered  with  yellow  sand  and 
bordered  with  verdure,  that  wound  around  the  clumps 
of  shrubs,  flowers,  and  plants. 

"We  walked  two  or  three  times  through  the  drawing- 
rooms,  where  the  crowd  had  somewhat  diminished,  foi 
the  dancers  had  gone  to  restore  their  strength  at  the 
buffet,  served  with  elegant  profusion  in  a  gallery 
wainscotted  with  ebony  and  gilding  and  adorned  with 
paintings  by  Desportes,  representing  flowers,  fruits,  and 
game,  of  splendid  colouring,  which  time  had  simply 
made  richer.  All  these  details  which  I  glanced  at 
carelessly  remained  in  my  memory,  and  I  recall  them 
even  in  this  world  where  life  seems  only  the  dream  of 
a  shadow.     They  are  connected  for  me  with  feelings 


150 


Tr?  'lTj*  *j?  *.t?  tk*  ^  &  ^7  tf?     T?7  Tr?  *i?  Tt7  TtT  Tt?  tIt?  Tt?  ^tT  Tfj?  Tt"  j~. 

SPIRITE 


so  deep  that  they  compel  me  to  return  to  earth.  I 
returned  to  my  home  as  sad  as  I  had  left  it  joyous,  and 
attributed  my  mournful  look  to  a  slight  headache. 
As  I  exchanged  for  a  night  wrapper  the  ball  toilet 
which  had  been  useless  to  me,  since  I  desired  to  be 
beautiful  for  you  alone,  I  said  with  a  sigh,  4  Why 
did  n't  he  ask  me  to  dance,  as  the  Hungarian,  the 
Englishman,  and  the  other  men  did,  although  I  cared 
nothing  for  them  ?  It  was  a  very  easy  matter.  It 
was  the  most  natural  thing  at  a  ball.  But  everybody 
looked  at  me  except  the  one  being  whose  attention  I 
desired  to  attract.  There  is  no  doubt  that  my  unfor- 
tunate love  is  very  unlucky.'  I  went  to  bed,  and  a  few 
tears  rolled  from  my  eyelids  to  my  pillow." 

Here  stopped  Spirite's  dictation.  The  lamp  had 
long  since  gone  out  for  lack  of  oil,  and  Malivert,  like 
somnambulists  who  need  no  exterior  light,  was  still 
writing.  Page  followed  page  without  Guy  being  con- 
scious of  it.  Suddenly  the  impulse  that  guided  his 
hand  stopped,  and  his  own  thought,  suspended  by  that 
of  Spirite,  returned  to  him.  The  faint  light  of  dawn 
was  filtering  through  the  curtains  of  his  room.  He 
pulled  them  aside,  and  the  pallid  light  of  a  winter 

151 


rJL     .X.     »4«  »k  «4»  »i»  *A»  »4^*X<  i*?  tS?  «lb    tfc  ««• tfctfe 

SPIRITE 

morning  showed  him  on  the  table  many  pages  covered 
with  feverish,  rapid  writing,  the  work  of  the  night. 
Although  he  had  written  them  with  his  own  hand,  he 
did  not  know  their  contents.  With  ardent  curiosity, 
with  deep  emotion,  he  read  the  artless  and  chaste  con- 
fidences of  the  lovely  soul,  of  the  adorable  being,  whose 
executioner  he  had  been ;  innocently,  it  is  needless  to 
add.  This  tardy  confession  of  love  coming  from  the 
other  world,  breathed  by  a  shadow,  inspired  him  with 
desperate  regret  and  powerless  rage  against  himself. 
How  could  he  have  been  stupid  enough,  blind  enough 
to  pass  thus  by  the  side  of  happiness  without  perceiv- 
ing it.  But  he  grew  calm  at  last.  Happening  to 
look  up  at  the  Venetian  mirror,  he  saw  the  reflection 
of  Spirite  smiling  upon  him. 


152 


SPI RITE 
tt:  &  i:  &  i:  £  &  &  db  &  i:   &   &  &  £  &  db  4:  db  dfe  £  d? 

x 

A STRANGE  experience  it  is,  to  receive  a  reve- 
lation of  retrospective  happiness  which  has 
passed  close  to  you  without  being  perceived, 
and  which  you  have  lost  through  your  own  fault. 
Never  can  regret  for  the  irreparable  be  more  bitter. 
One  would  like  to  live  over  again  one's  past  days. 
Wonderful  plans  are  made,  and  after  the  event  one 
indulges  in  the  most  amazing  perspicacity ;  but  life 
cannot  be  turned  over  like  an  hourglass ;  the  grain  of 
sand  once  fallen  will  never  ascend  again.  Guy  de 
Malivert  reproached  himself  in  vain  for  not  having 
found  out  the  charming  creature,  who  was  neither 
buried  in  a  Constantinople  harem  nor  hidden  behind 
the  gratings  of  an  Italian  or  Spanish  convent,  nor 
guarded  like  Rosina  by  a  jealous  guardian,  but  who 
had  been  of  his  own  world,  whom  he  could  have  seen 
every  day,  and  from  whom  no  insuperable  obstacle 
separated  him.  She  loved  him  ;  he  could  have  asked 
her  in  marriage,  he  would  have  obtained  her  hand,  and 

J53 


SPIRITE 


he  would  have  enjoyed  the  supreme  and  rare  felicity  of 
being  united  even  in  this  life  to  the  soul  destined  to  his 
soul.  From  the  way  in  which  he  adored  her  shadow 
he  understood  what  a  passion  the  girl  herself  would 
have  inspired  in  him.  But  soon  his  thoughts  took 
another  course ;  he  ceased  to  reproach  himself,  and 
regretted  his  commonplace  grief.  What  had  he  lost, 
since,  after  all,  Spirite  had  preserved  her  love  beyond 
the  tomb  and  had  come  from  the  depths  of  the  Infinite 
to  descend  to  the  sphere  which  he  inhabited  ?  Was 
not  the  passion  he  felt  nobler,  more  poetic,  more 
ethereal,  more  like  eternal  love,  since  it  was  thus  rid 
of  terrestrial  contingencies,  and  had  for  its  object  a 
being  idealised  by  death  ?  Has  not  the  most  perfect 
human  union  its  weariness,  its  satiety,  its  lassitude  ? 
The  most  dazzled  eyes  see,  after  a  few  years,  the 
charms  they  first  adored  turn  pale ;  the  soul  is  less 
visible  through  the  worn  flesh  and  love  seeks  in 
amazement  its  vanished  ideal. 

These  reflections  and  the  ordinary  course  of  life 
with  its  exigencies,  which  even  the  most  enthusiastic 
dreamers  cannot  escape,  led  on  Malivert  until  the 
evening,  which  he  so  impatiently  awaited.  When  he 
had  shut  himself  up  in  his  room  and  seated  himself  by 


154 


rt*  ».t»  rL%  rl-a  »li  rift  «X»  »!■»        .Jj  »lj  »|j  »i»  rj^  *£«  »A«  Ty?  j?  tjj  tt»  J? 

SPIRITE 


the  table  as  the  night  before,  prepared  to  write,  the 
little  white,  slender,  blue-veined  hand  reappeared,  sign- 
ing to  Malivert  to  take  the  pen.  He  obeyed  and  his 
ringers  began  to  move  of  themselves  without  his  brain 
dictating  anything.  Spirite's  thought  had  taken  the 
place  of  his  own. 

SPIRITE'S  DICTATION 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  weary  you  in  posthumous 
fashion  by  telling  you  of  all  my  disappointments.  One 
day,  however,  I  did  feel  a  lively  joy,  and  I  thought 
that  imperious  fate,  which  seemed  to  enjoy  concealing 
me  from  your  glance,  was  about  to  cease  troubling 
me.     We  were  to  dine  the  following  Saturday  at 

Mine,  de  L  's.     That  alone  would  have  been 

very  indifferent  to  me,  had  I  not  learned  during  the 
week  through  Baron  de  Feroe,  who  sometimes  came 
to  see  us,  that  you  were  to  be  one  of  the  guests  at 

this  half  worldly,  half  literary  feast,  for  M.  de  L  

enjoyed  entertaining  artists  and  writers.  He  was  a 
man  of  taste,  a  connoisseur  of  books  and  paintings, 
and  possessed  a  library  and  a  very  fine  collection  of 
paintings.  You  occasionally  went  to  his  receptions,  as 
did  also  several  famous  authors,  and  others  who  were 


155 


SPI RITE 


becoming  famous.     M.  de  L   piqued  himself  on 

his  ability  to  discover  talent,  and  he  was  not  of  those 
who  believe  in  settled  reputations  only.  I  said  to  my- 
self, in  my  childish  exultation,  '  At  last  I  have  got 
hold  of  that  fugitive,  of  that  unapproachable  man. 
This  time  he  cannot  escape  me.  When  we  shall  be 
seated  at  the  same  table,  perhaps  side  by  side,  lighted 
by  fifty  tapers,  careless  though  he  may  be,  he  will  have 
to  see  me,  unless,  however,  there  happens  to  be  be- 
tween us  a  mass  of  flowers  or  a  centre-piece  which 
may  conceal  me.'  The  days  which  still  separated  me 
from  the  happy  Saturday  seemed  dreadfully  long,  as 
long  as  study  hours  at  the  convent.  They  went  by, 
however,  and  the  three  of  us,  my  father,  my  mother, 

and  myself,  reached  M.  de  L  's  some  thirty  minutes 

before  the  dinner  hour.  The  guests,  grouped  about 
the  drawing-room,  were  chatting  with  each  other, 
coming  and  going,  looking  at  the  pictures,  glancing  at 
the  pamphlets  on  the  tables,  or  telling  stage  news  to 
some  ladies  seated  on  a  divan  near  the  mistress  of  the 
house.  Among  them  were  two  or  three  illustrious 
writers  whose  names  my  father  told  me,  but  whose 
faces  did  not  seem  to  me  in  harmony  with  their  works. 
You  had  not  yet  arrived.    The  guests  were  all  there, 


156 


£  db   &      &  &  4: 4:  &     :lr  4?  tlr  tlr  sb  db  sir  4?  sir  :Sr  A 
SPI RITE 


and  M.  de  L  was  beginning  to  complain  of  your 

lack  of  punctuality,  when  a  tall  footman  entered, 
bringing  on  a  silver  salver,  on  which  was  a  pencil  to 
sign  and  to  mark  the  hour  of  delivery,  a  telegram  from 
you,  sent  from  Chantilly  and  containing  these  words 
only,  in  telegraphic  style:  'Missed  my  train.  Don't 
wait.     Awfully  sorry.' 

"  Cruel  was  my  disappointment.  The  whole  week  I 
had  caressed  this  hope,  which  vanished  at  the  moment 
it  was  about  to  be  fulfilled.  I  was  filled  with  a  sad- 
ness which  I  had  great  difficulty  in  concealing,  and  the 
flush  which  animation  had  imparted  to  my  cheeks  van- 
ished. Fortunately  the  doors  of  the  dining-room  were 
opened,  and  the  butler  announced  dinner.  The  move- 
ment which  took  place  among  the  guests  prevented  my 
emotion  being  noticed.  When  everybody  was  seated, 
a  chair  remained  empty  on  my  right.  It  was  yours ; 
I  could  not  be  mistaken,  for  your  name  was  writ- 
ten in  fine  writing  upon  a  card  with  pretty  coloured 
arabesques  placed  near  your  glasses.  So  the  irony  of 
fate  was  complete.  But  for  this  commonplace  railway 
difficulty  I  should  have  had  you  near  me  during  the 
whole  meal,  touching  my  dress,  your  hand  touching 
mine  when  paying  those  innumerable  little  attentions 


157 


»jL  «a»       »4»  »A»  »4» »t» «A»  •>!»  »4»    *|y  *|f  j|j    jij  jjj  jj-j  jjj  ^A*  jij  jjy  j£* 

SPIRITE 

that  at  table  the  least  gallant  man  feels  himself  bound 
to  render  to  a  woman.  A  few  commonplace  words 
to  begin  with,  like  every  overture  to  a  dialogue, 
would  have  been  exchanged  between  us,  then,  the 
ice  having  been  broken,  our  conversation  would 
have  become  more  intimate,  and  your  soul,  your  mind 
would  soon  have  understood  my  heart.  Perchance  I 
might  not  have  displeased  you,  and  although  fresh 
from  Spain,  you  might  have  forgiven  the  rosy  fairness 
of  my  complexion,  the  pale  gold  of  my  hair.  If  you 
had  come  to  that  dinner,  your  life  and  mine  would 
unquestionably  have  moved  in  another  direction  ;  you 
would  no  longer  be  a  bachelor,  and  I  should  be  alive 
and  not  reduced  to  tell  you  my  love  from  the  other 
world.  The  love  which  you  feel  for  my  shadow 
leads  me  to  believe,  without  being  too  conceited, 
that  you  would  not  have  been  insensible  to  my  terres- 
trial charms.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  The  unoccupied 
chair  which  isolated  me  from  the  other  guests  seemed 
to  me  a  symbol  of  my  fate,  —  it  betokened  vain  expec- 
tation and  solitude  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd.  The 
sinister  omen  has  been  too  well  fulfilled.  My  neigh- 
bour on  the  left  was,  as  I  learned  later,  a  very  amiable 
and  very  learned  academician.     He  tried  several  times 


158 


4,  4.  4;  4;  4j  4;  4.  &  4;  4j  4*  4.  4;  4.  4;  4y  4j  4;  4j  4;  4»  4;  4;  4* 

SPI  RITE 

to  make  me  talk,  but  I  answered  in  monosyllables 
only,  and  even  these  were  so  ill  fitted  to  the  ques- 
tions that  my  neighbour  naturally  took  me  for  a 
little  idiot,  left  me  to  myself,  and  chatted  with  his 
other  partner. 

"  I  scarcely  touched  the  food ;  my  heart  was  so 
heavy  that  I  could  not  eat.  At  last  the  dinner  ended 
and  we  went  to  the  drawing-room,  where  the  guests 
formed  groups  according  to  their  preferences.  In  one, 
rather  close  to  the  arm-chair  in  which  I  was  seated,  so 
that  I  could  hear  what  was  being  said,  your  name, 
spoken  by  M.  d'Aversac,  excited  my  curiosity.  '  That 
chap  Malivert,'  said  d'Aversac,  1  is  cracked  about  his 
pacha.  On  the  other  hand,  the  pacha  is  crazy  about 
Malivert.  They  are  never  apart.  Mohammed  or  Mus- 
tapha,  I  do  not  remember  which  is  his  name,  wants  to 
take  Guy  to  Egypt  and  talks  of  giving  him  a  steamer 
to  take  him  to  the  first  cataract,  but  Guy,  who  is  as 
barbaric  as  the  Turk  is  civilised,  would  prefer  a  daha- 
bheah.  He  rather  likes  the  plan,  for  he  thinks  it  is 
very  cold  in  Paris.  He  has  a  fancy  for  spending  the 
winter  in  Cairo  and  continuing  the  study  of  Arab 
architecture  which  he  commenced  in  the  Alhambra ; 
but  if  he  does  go,  I  am  afraid  we  shall  never  see  him 


159 


S  P I  R  I  T  E 


again,  and  that  he  will  turn  Moslem  like  Hassan,  the 
hero  of  "  Namouna."  ' 

" 4  He  is  quite  capable  of  it,'  answered  a  young 
fellow  who  was  in  the  group ;  c  he  has  never  greatly 
liked  Western  civilisation.' 

"  1  Nonsense  ! '  replied  another.  1  Once  he  has  worn 
a  few  genuine  costumes,  taken  a  dozen  vapour  baths, 
purchased  from  the  Djellabs  one  or  two  slaves  whom 
he  will  sell  at  a  discount,  gazed  on  the  Pyramids, 
sketched  the  broken-nosed  profile  of  the  Sphinx,  he 
will  calmly  come  back  to  tramp  the  asphalt  of  the 
Boulevard  des  Italiens,  which  is,  after  all,  the  only  in- 
habitable place  in  the  world.' 

"  This  conversation  filled  me  with  deep  anxiety. 
You  were  about  to  leave  and  for  how  long  .nobody 
knew.  Would  I  have  the  chance  of  meeting  you 
before  your  departure  and  leaving  you  at  least  my 
image  to  carry  away  with  you  ?  That  was  a  piece  of 
happiness  I  dared  no  longer  believe  in  after  so  many 
disappointments. 

"  On  returning  home,  after  having  reassured  my 
mother,  who  fancied  I  must  be  ill,  so  pale  was  I,  for 
she  could  not  suspect  what  was  going  on  in  my  heart, 
I  thought  deeply  over  my  position.    I  asked  myself 

160 


t.v*      'Ir  '^r  tfc  it?  ^tC  ^  ^         A  A^*»i»«l»»i*>l««l««l»  »i« 

 SPIRITE  

whether  the  obstinacy  of  circumstances  to  separate  us 
was  not  a  secret  warning  of  Fate  which  it  would  be 
dangerous  to  disobey.  Perhaps  you  would  be  fatal  to 
me,  and  it  was  wrong  to  insist  on  throwing  myself  in 
your  way.  My  reason  alone  spoke,  for  my  heart 
repelled  the  idea  and  meant  to  incur  to  the  very  last 
the  risk  of  its  love.  I  felt  myself  irresistibly  drawn  to 
you,  and  the  bond,  frail  though  it  seemed,  was  more 
solid  than  a  diamond  chain.  Unfortunately  I  was  the 
only  one  bound.  1  How  painful  is  the  fate  of  wo- 
man ! '  I  said  to  myself,  1  doomed  to  expectation,  to 
inaction,  to  solitude,  she  cannot  without  failing  in 
modesty,  manifest  her  feelings.  She  must  yield  to  the 
love  she  inspires,  but  she  must  not  declare  that  which 
she  feels.  From  the  moment  my  heart  awoke,  one 
sentiment  alone  filled  it, —  a  pure,  absolute,  eternal 
sentiment,  —  and  the  being  who  is  the  object  of  it  will 
never  know  it  perhaps.  How  can  I  let  him  know  that 
a  young  girl  whom  he  no  doubt  would  love  if  he 
could  suspect  such  a  secret,  lives  and  breathes  for  him 
alone  ? ' 

"For  a  moment  I  thought  of  writing  you  one  of  those 
letters  such  as  authors,  I  am  told,  receive  at  times,  in 
which,  under  the  veil  of  admiration  crop  out  feelings 

ii  161 


SPI  RITE 


of  another  sort,  and  which  solicit  a  rendezvous,  in  no 
wise  compromising,  at  the  theatre  or  at  the  promenade ; 
but  my  feminine  modesty  revolted  at  the  employment 
of  such  means,  and  I  feared  lest  you  should  take  me 
for  a  bluestocking  seeking  your  assistance  to  have  a 
novel  accepted  by  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes. 

"  D'Aversac  had  spoken  the  truth  :  the  next  week  you 
had  started  for  Cairo  with  your  pacha.  Your  departure, 
which  postponed  my  hopes  to  an  uncertain  time,  filled 
me  with  a  melancholy  which  I  found  it  difficult  to  con- 
ceal. I  had  lost  interest  in  life.  I  cared  nothing  for 
dress  ;  when  I  went  into  society,  I  let  my  maid  select 
my  toilets.  What  was  the  use  of  being  beautiful  since 
you  were  not  there  ?  And  yet  I  was  still  beautiful 
enough  to  be  surrounded  like  Penelope  with  a  whole 
crowd  of  suitors.  Little  by  little  our  drawing-room, 
frequented  by  my  father's  friends,  serious  and  some- 
what mature  men,  was  filled  with  younger  men,  who 
came  very  assiduously  to  our  Fridays.  In  the  recesses 
of  the  doors  I  could  see  handsome  dark  fellows,  cor- 
rectly curled,  whose  cravats  had  cost  them  much 
meditation  before  they  tied  them,  and  who  cast  on  me 
passionate  and  fascinating  glances ;  others,  during  the 
figures  of  a  quadrille,  when  we  danced  to  the  accom- 


162 


SPI  RITE 


paniment  of  the  piano,  uttered  sighs  which,  with- 
out being  the  least  touched,  I  attributed  to  their 
being  breathless ;  others,  bolder,  risked  a  few  moral 
and  poetic  phrases  about  the  happiness  of  a  suitable 
marriage,  and  claimed  to  be  created  purposely  for 
legitimate  happiness.  They  were  all  brave,  irre- 
proachable, well-dressed,  ideally  delicate ;  the  scent 
on  their  hair  came  from  Houbigant,  their  clothes 
were  made  by  Renard.  What  more  could  an  exact- 
ing, romantic  imagination  ask  for  ?  Therefore  those 
handsome  young  fellows  seemed  somewhat  surprised 
at  the  slight  impression  they  produced  on  me  ;  those 
who  were  most  annoyed  even  suspected  me,  I  be- 
lieve, of  being  poetical.  I  had  some  serious  offers  ; 
my  hand  was  more  than  once  asked  of  my  parents, 
but  on  my  being  consulted  I  always  replied  in  the 
negative,  managing  to  find  excellent  objections.  My 
parents  did  not  insist.  I  was  so  young  that  there  was 
no  need  of  hurrying  and  later  repenting  a  precipitate 
choice.  Believing  that  I  had  some  secret  preference, 
my  mother  questioned  me,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of 
revealing  the  truth  to  her,  but  an  invincible  modesty 
kept  me  back.  The  love  which  I  alone  felt  and  which 
you  were  ignorant  of,  seemed  to  be  a  secret  which  I 


163 


i:  £  £  tfc  is  &  &  iff  &  £  i:      db  4:   sfc  tS:   4:  tfc  4:  db 

SPIRITE 


had  no  right  to  tell  without  your  consent.  It  did  not 
belong  to  me  alone,  you  had  a  share  in  it ;  so  I  kept 
silence;  and  besides,  I  could  never  confess,  even  to 
the  most  indulgent  of  mothers,  my  mad  passion, — 
for  thus  it  might  well  seem,  —  born  from  an  impression 
of  childhood  in  the  convent  parlour,  obstinately  main- 
tained in  my  soul,  and  justified  by  nothing  from  a  hu- 
man point  of  view.  Had  I  spoken,  my  mother,  seeing 
that  my  choice  was  in  no  wise  blameworthy,  or  im- 
possible of  realisation,  would  no  doubt  have  sought  to 
bring  us  together,  and  used,  to  make  you  declare  your- 
self, some  of  those  subterfuges  which,  on  similar  occa- 
sions, the  most  honest  and  virtuous  women  manage  to 
invent.  But  this  was  repugnant  to  my  virginal  probity. 
I  would  have  no  intermediary  between  you  and  me. 
You  alone  were  to  notice  me  and  find  me  out.  In 
that  way  alone  could  I  be  happy  and  forgive  myself  for 
having  been  the  first  to  love  you.  My  maidenly 
modesty  needed  this  consolation  and  this  excuse.  It 
was  neither  pride  nor  coquetry,  but  a  genuine  feeling 
of  feminine  dignity. 

"  Time  passed  and  you  returned  from  Egypt.  I  be- 
gan to  hear  of  your  attentions  to  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt, 
with  whom  you  were  said  to  be  very  much  in  love. 


164 


•4*  «4»  #J/»  »1»  *vi*  rin  rif*  »i»  »1*  »1»        »A»        et%        r|*  «A»  «4»  #A»  #Aj  •!*«>$< 

 SPIRITE  

My  heart  took  fright  and  I  wished  to  see  my  rival. 
She  was  shown  to  me  in  her  box  at  the  opera.  I  tried 
to  judge  her  impartially,  and  I  thought  her  handsome, 
but  without  charm  and  without  refinement.  She  was 
like  a  copy  of  a  classical  statue  made  by  a  mediocre 
sculptor.  She  united  in  herself  everything  that  goes  to 
make  up  the  ideal  of  dolts,  and  I  wondered  that  you 
could  have  the  least  fancy  for  such  an  idol.  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt's  face,  so  regular  at  first  sight,  lacked 
distinguishing  traits,  original  grace,  unexpected  charms. 
Such  as  she  appeared  to  me  on  that  evening,  such 
she  must  always  be.  In  spite  of  what  I  heard,  I  was 
conceited  enough  not  to  be  jealous  of  her.  Yet  the 
reports  of  your  marriage  became  more  and  more  nu- 
merous, and  as  ill  news  always  reaches  those  whom  it 
interests,  I  was  informed  of  everything  that  went  on 
between  you  and  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt.  At  one  time 
I  was  told  that  the  banns  had  been  called;  at  another 
the  exact  day  of  the  wedding  was  named.  I  had  no 
means  of  ascertaining  the  accuracy  or  falseness  of 
these  reports.  The  whole  thing  appeared  to  every 
one  settled  and  most  delightful  in  every  respect,  and 
so  I  had  to  believe  it;  yet  the  secret  voice  of  my 
heart  assured  me  that  you  did  not  love  Mme.  d'Ym- 


SPIRITE 


bercourt.  But  very  often  people  marry  without  love, 
to  have  an  establishment,  a  settled  position  in  society, 
or  because  they  feel  the  need  of  repose  after  the  heat 
and  excitement  of  youth.  I  was  filled  with  deep  de- 
spair and  saw  my  life  drawing  to  a  close.  My  chaste 
dream,  caressed  so  long,  vanished  forever.  I  dared  not 
even  think  of  you  in  the  most  mysterious  recesses  of 
my  soul,  for  as  you  now  belonged  to  another  before 
God  and  men,  my  thoughts  of  you,  hitherto  innocent, 
became  culpable.  In  my  passion  as  a  girl  nothing  had 
occurred  to  make  my  guardian  angel  blush.  Once  I 
met  you  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  riding  by  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt's  carriage,  and  I  threw  myself  back  in 
my  own,  taking  as  much  care  to  conceal  myself  as 
formerly  I  would  have  taken  to  be  seen  by  you.  That 
rapid  glimpse  was  the  last  I  had  of  you. 

"  I  was  scarcely  seventeen.  What  was  going  to 
become  of  me  ?  What  would  be  the  end  of  a  life 
secretly  destroyed  at  its  very  beginning  ?  Should  I 
accept  one  of  the  suitors  approved  by  my  parents  in 
their  wisdom  ?  That  is  what,  on  such  occasions,  have 
done  many  young  girls  separated  as  I  was  from  their 
ideal  by  some  obscure  fatality.  But  my  sense  of 
loyalty  revolted  from  such  a  course,  for  I  believed  that, 


166 


SPI  R  I  TE 

my  first  and  only  thought  of  love  having  been  for  you, 
I  could  belong  to  no  one  but  you  in  this  world ;  any 
other  union  would  have  struck  me  as  almost  adul- 
terous. My  heart  held  but  a  single  page ;  you  had 
written  your  name  on  it  unwittingly,  and  no  other 
was  to  take  its  place.  Your  own  marriage  would  not 
free  me  from  being  faithful  to  you.  Unconscious  of 
my  love,  you  were  free,  but  I  was  bound.  The  idea 
of  being  the  wife  of  another  man  filled  me  with  in- 
surmountable horror,  arid  after  having  refused  several 
suitors,  knowing  well  how  difficult  a  position  in 
society  is  that  of  an  old  maid,  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
leave  the  world  and  become  a  nun.  God  alone  could 
shelter  my  grief  and  perhaps  console  me. 


167 


SPIRITE 
£  £    "k  & & db  £  &    4: 4r  :b  tfc  sb  £  tb  :b  db  tfc  si?  tf?  tfc  A 


XI 

I ENTERED  as  a  novice  the  convent  of  the  Sisters 
of  Mercy  in  spite  of  my  parents'  remonstrances, 
which  moved  me,  but  did  not  shake  my  courage. 
Firm  though  one's  resolve  may  be,  the  moment  of  the 
final  separation  is  terrible.  At  the  end  of  a  long  pas- 
sage a  grating  marks  the  limit  between  the  world  and 
the  cloister.  The  family  may  accompany  to  that 
threshold,  not  to  be  crossed  by  the  profane,  the  maiden 
who  gives  herself  to  God.  After  the  last  embrace,  the 
end  of  which  is  awaited  by  gloomy,  veiled  figures  with 
an  impassible  air,  the  grating  opens  just  wide  enough 
to  allow  the  passage  of  the  novice,  whom  shadowy 
arms  seem  to  carry  away,  and  it  closes  with  a  rattle  of 
iron  that  echoes  down  the  long  corridors  like  distant 
thunder.  The  sound  of  the  closing  of  a  coffin  is  not 
more  lugubrious,  and  does  not  strike  the  heart  more 
painfully.  I  felt  myself  grow  pale  and  an  icy  chill 
seized  me.  I  had  taken  my  first  step  out  of  earthly 
life,  henceforth  closed  to  me  ;  I  was  penetrating  into 


168 


SPIRITE 


that  cold  region  where  passions  die,  where  remem- 
brance vanishes,  and  which  the  rumours  of  the  world 
no  longer  reach.  There  naught  exists  but  the  thought 
of  God.  It  suffices  to  fill  the  frightful  void  and  the 
silence  which  weighs  on  this  place,  a  silence  as  deep  as 
that  of  the  tomb.  I  may  tell  you  all  this,  now  I  am 
dead. 

"  My  piety,  though  tender  and  fervent,  did  not  go 
to  the  length  of  mystical  exaltation  ;  it  was  a  human 
motive  rather  than  an  imperious  vocation  that  had 
caused  me  to  seek  peace  in  the  solitary  cloister.  I  was 
a  shipwrecked  soul,  cast  upon  an  unknown  reef,  and 
my  dream,  invisible  to  all,  had  ended  tragically.  At 
the  beginning,  therefore,  I  suffered  what  in  the  devout 
life  is  called  dryness  of  heart,  weariness,  longing  for 
the  world,  vague  despair,  —  the  last  temptations  of  the 
spirit  of  the  day,  trying  to  seize  his  prey;  but  soon  the 
tumult  was  appeased,  the  habit  of  prayer  and  of  reli- 
gious practices  the  regularity  of  the  offices  and  the 
monotony  of  a  rule  intended  to  overcome  the  rebellion 
of  the  soul  and  of  the  body,  turned  towards  heaven 
thoughts  that  yet  too  often  recalled  the  earth.  Your 
image  still  lived  in  my  heart,  but  I  succeeded  in  loving 
you  only  in  and  through  God.    The  Convent  of  the 

169 


SPI RITE 


Sisters  of  Mercy  is  not  one  of  those  romantic  cloisters 
such  as  worldly  people  imagine  might  shelter  a  despair- 
ing life.  There  were  no  Gothic  arcades,  no  columns 
festooned  with  ivy,  no  moonbeams  entering  through  the 
trefoil  of  a  broken  rose  window  and  casting  their  light 
upon  the  inscription  of  a  tomb  ;  no  chapel,  with  stained- 
glass  windows,  slender  pillars,  and  traceried  vaultings, 
forming  excellent  motives  for  a  decoration  or  a  pano- 
rama. The  religious  feeling  which  seeks  to  understand 
Christianity  by  its  picturesque  and  poetic  side  would 
find  in  it  no  theme  for  descriptions  after  the  manner 
of  Chateaubriand.  The  building  is  modern  and  has  not 
the  smallest  obscure  corner  in  which  to  lodge  a  legend. 
Nothing  satisfies  the  eyes,  no  ornaments,  no  fancy  of 
art,  no  paintings,  no  sculptures  ;  everywhere  bare, 
straight  lines.  A  white  light  illumines  like  a  winter's 
day  the  pallor  of  the  long  corridors  and  the  walls,  cut 
by  the  symmetrical  doors  of  the  cells,  and  glazes  with 
rippling  beams  the  shining  floors  :  everywhere  gloomy 
severity,  heedless  of  beauty,  and  careless  of  clothing  the 
idea  with  a  form.  This  dull  architecture  has  the 
advantage  of  not  distracting  souls  which  must  lose 
themselves  in  the  contemplation  of  God.  The  win- 
dows are  placed  very  high  and  are  grated;  between  the 

170 


SPIRITE 


black  bars  one  can  get  but  a  glimpse  of  the  blue  or 
gray  sky  outside.  It  is  like  a  fortress  built  as  a  defence 
against  the  ambushes  of  the  world.  Solidity  is  suffi- 
cient; beauty  would  be  superfluous.  The  chapel  itself 
is  but  half  opened  to  the  devotions  of  the  faithful  out- 
side. A  huge  screen  rising  from  the  ground  to  the 
vaulting  and  provided  with  thick  green  curtains,  inter- 
poses like  the  portcullis  of  a  fortress  between  the 
nave  and  the  choir  reserved  for  the  nuns.  Wooden 
stalls  with  sober  mouldings  polished  by  wear,  run  on 
either  side  ;  at  the  back,  in  the  centre,  are  placed  three 
seats  for  the  Mother  Superior  and  her  two  assistants. 
There  the  nuns  come  to  hear  divine  service,  their  veils 
down,  their  long  black  dresses  on  which  shows  a  broad 
strip  of  white  stuff  like  the  cross  of  a  pall  from  which 
the  arms  have  been  cut,  trailing  behind  them.  From 
the  trellised  gallery  of  the  novices  I  watched  the  nuns 
bow  to  the  Mother  Superior  and  to  the  altar,  kneel 
down,  prostrate  themselves,  and  vanish  into  their  stalls 
changed  into  prie-Dieu.  At  the  elevation  of  the  Host, 
the  centre  of  the  curtain  opens  somewhat  and  allows  a 
glimpse  of  the  priest  performing  the  Holy  Sacrifice  at 
the  altar,  placed  opposite  the  choir.  The  fervour  of 
the  worship  edified  me  and  confirmed  my  resolution  to 

171 


is  is is  &  is  db  £  ^  ie  4:  ££4:  dbdbdbdbsbdbsbtlr  db 
SPI  RITE 


break  with  the  world  to  which  I  could  not  have  re- 
turned. In  this  atmosphere  of  ecstasy  and  incense,  in 
the  trembling  light  of  the  tapers  casting  pale  gleams 
upon  these  prostrate  brows,  my  heart  felt  it  was 
becoming  winged,  and  tended  more  and  more  to  rise  to 
ethereal  regions.  The  ceiling  of  the  chapel  turned 
azure  and  gold  and  in  an  opening  of  the  heaven  I 
seemed  to  see  in  a  luminous  cloud,  the  smiling  angels 
bending  towards  me  and  signing  to  me  to  come  to 
them.  I  saw  no  longer  the  ugly  tint  of  the  whitewash, 
the  mediocre  taste  of  the  chandelier,  and  the  meanness 
of  the  black-framed  paintings. 

"  The  time  for  the  taking  of  my  vows  approaching,  I 
was  overwhelmed  with  the  flattering  encouragement, 
the  delicate  attentions,  the  mystic  caresses,  the  hopes  of 
perfect  felicity  lavished  in  convents  upon  young  novices 
about  to  consummate  their  sacrifice  and  to  give  them- 
selves forever  to  God.  I  did  not  need  these  helps  ;  I 
could  walk  to  the  altar  with  a  firm  step.  Forced — or 
at  least,  I  thought  so  —  to  give  you  up,  I  regretted 
nothing  in  the  world,  save  the  affection  of  my  parents, 
and  my  resolve  never  to  re-enter  it  was  unchangeable. 

"  I  had  passed  the  tests  and  the  solemn  day  arrived. 
The  convent,  usually  so  peaceful,  was  filled  with  an 


172 


SPIRITE 

agitation  which  the  severe  monastic  discipline  repressed. 
The  sisters  came  and  went  in  the  corridors,  sometimes 
forgetting  the  phantom-like  walk  ordered  by  the  rule ; 
for  the  coming  in  of  a  new  sister  is  a  great  event,  and 
the  entrance  of  a  new  lamb  into  the  flock  throws  the 
whole  fold  into  commotion.  The  worldly  dress  which 
the  novice  puts  on  for  the  last  time  is  a  subject  of 
curiosity,  joy,  and  astonishment;  the  satin,  lace,  pearls, 
and  gems  intended  to  represent  the  pomps  of  Satan  are 
admired  somewhat  fearfully.  Thus  adorned,  I  was  led 
to  the  choir.  The  Mother  Superior  and  her  assistants 
were  in  their  places,  and  in  the  stalls  the  nuns  were 
praying  on  bended  knee.  I  spoke  the  sacred  words 
which  separated  me  forever  from  the  living,  and 
as  the  ritual  of  the  ceremony  requires  it,  I  pushed  aside 
with  my  foot  the  rich  velvet  carpet  on  which  I  had  to 
kneel  at  certain  moments.  I  took  off"  my  necklace 
and  bracelets  and  undid  my  ornaments  in  token  of  my 
renunciation  of  vanity  and  luxury.  I  abjured  the 
coquetry  of  women,  which  was  not  a  difficult  thing 
for  me  to  do,  since  I  had  not  had  the  joy  to  please  you 
and  to  be  beautiful  in  your  eyes. 

"  Then  came  the  most  lugubrious  and  the  most 
dreaded  scene  of  the  religious  drama,  —  the  moment 


73 


SPIRITE 


when  the  new  nun's  hair  is  cut  off  as  a  vanity  hence- 
forth useless.  It  recalls  the  dressing  of  the  condemned; 
only,  the  victim  is  innocent,  or  at  least  purified  by 
repentance.  Although  I  had  sincerely  and  from  my 
heart  given  up  all  human  bonds,  I  became  pale  as 
death  when  the  scissors  began  cutting  my  long,  fair 
hair,  held  up  by  one  of  the  sisters.  The  golden  curls 
fell  in  thick  quantities  upon  the  flags  of  the  sacristy  into 
which  I  had  been  led,  and  1  gazed  at  them  with  dry 
eyes  as  they  fell  around  me.  I  was  terrified  and  felt  a 
secret  horror  ;  the  cold  of  the  scissors,  as  they  touched 
my  neck,  made  me  start  nervously  as  if  I  felt  the  touch 
of  the  axe ;  my  teeth  chattered,  and  the  prayer  I  strove 
to  utter  could  not  pass  my  lips.  Ice-cold  sweat,  as  that 
of  one  in  agony,  bathed  my  temples  ;  my  sight  grew 
dim,  and  the  lamp  suspended  before  the  altar  of  the 
Virgin  semed  to  be  vanishing  in  a  mist ;  my  knees  sank 
under  me,  and  I  had  only  time  to  say,  as  I  stretched 
out  my  arms  as  if  clinging  to  emptiness,  'I  am  dying.' 

"  They  made  me  breathe  salts,  and  when  I  had  re- 
gained my  senses,  amazed,  like  one  emerging  from  the 
tomb,  at  the  brightness  of  the  day,  I  found  myself  in 
the  arms  of  the  sisters,  who  supported  me  placidly, 
accustomed  as  they  were  to  such  scenes. 


174 


SPIRITE 


"  c  It  does  not  amount  to  anything,'  said  the  youngest 
of  the  nuns  with  an  air  of  sympathy.  'The  most 
trying  part  is  over.  Recommend  yourself  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  all  will  be  well.  The  same  thing 
happened  to  me  when  I  took  the  vows.  It  is  the  last 
effort  of  Satan.' 

"Two  sisters  put  on  me  the  black  dress  of  the  order 
and  the  white  stole,  took  me  back  to  the  choir,  and 
cast  over  my  head  the  veil,  the  symbolical  shroud 
which  made  me  dead  to  the  world,  and  left  me  visible 
to  God  alone.  A  pious  legend  which  I  had  heard 
stated  that  if  one  asked  of  Heaven  a  favour  when  under 
the  folds  of  the  funereal  veil,  it  would  be  granted. 
When  the  veil  was  cast  over  me,  I  implored  of  the 
Divine  goodness  to  allow  me  to  reveal  my  love  to  you. 
It  seemed  to  me,  as  I  felt  a  sudden  inward  joy,  that 
my  prayer  was  granted,  and  I  was  greatly  relieved  ; 
for  that  was  my  secret  pain,  that  was  the  dagger 
in  my  heart,  the  thorn  in  my  flesh  which  made  me 
suffer  night  and  day.  I  had  given  you  up  in  this 
world,  but  my  soul  could  not  consent  to  keep  its 
secret  forever. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  of  my  life  in  the  convent  ?  There 
day  follows  day  exactly  alike,  every  hour  with  its 


175 


db  db   sb  is  db  db  k  sb  sb  4? tb  db  4?  db  d?  d:  4?  tb  db  db  db  tl- 

SPIRITE 


devotion,  its  task;  life  moves  on  with  equal  step 
towards  eternity,  glad  to  approach  the  end.  Yet  the 
apparent  calm  often  conceals  much  languor,  sadness, 
and  depression.  Thoughts,  although  tamed  by  prayer 
and  meditation,  will  wander  off  in  reverie  ;  the  nos- 
talgia of  the  world  seizes  upon  you ;  you  regret  your 
liberty,  your  family,  and  nature  ;  you  dream  of  the  great 
horizons  filled  with  light,  of  the  meadows  diapered 
with  flowers,  of  the  swelling,  wooded  hills,  of  the  blue 
smoke  that  rises  in  the  evening  over  the  fields,  of  the 
road  traversed  by  carriages,  of  the  river  with  its  boats, 
of  life,  of  motion,  of  joyous  sounds,  of  incessant  vari- 
ety of  objects.  You  would  like  to  go  out,  to  run,  to 
fly ;  you  wish  you  had  wings  like  a  bird  ;  you  turn  in 
your  tomb  ;  in  imagination  you  cross  the  high  walls  of 
the  convent,  and  your  thoughts  return  to  the  pleasant 
places,  to  the  scenes  of  your  childhood  and  your  youth, 
which  live  again  with  magical  vivacity  of  detail.  You 
form  useless  plans  for  happiness,  forgetting  that  the 
bolts  of  the  irrevocable  have  been  drawn  upon  you. 
The  most  religious  souls  are  exposed  to  these  tempta- 
tions, remembrances,  mirages,  which  the  will  represses, 
which  prayer  tries  to  dispel,  but  which  nevertheless  rise 
again  in  the  silence  and  solitude  of  the  cell  with  its 


176 


SPIRITE 


four  white  walls,  whose  sole  decoration  is  a  black 
wooden  crucifix.  The  thought  of  you,  put  away  at 
first  in  my  early  fervour,  returned,  more  frequent  and 
more  tender  ;  the  regret  of  lost  happiness  oppressed 
me  painfully,  and  often  silent  tears  streamed  down  my 
pale  cheeks.  At  night  I  would  weep  in  my  dreams, 
and  in  the  morning  find  my  coarse  pillow  wetted  with 
bitter  tears.  In  happier  visions  I  found  myself  on 
the  steps  of  a  villa,  after  a  drive,  walking  with  you 
up  a  wide  staircase  on  which  the  great  neighbouring 
trees  cast  bluish  shadows.  I  was  your  wife,  and  your 
caressing  and  protecting  glance  rested  on  me.  Every 
obstacle  that  had  come  between  us  had  disappeared. 
My  soul  did  not  consent  to  these  fair  imaginings, 
which  it  strove  against  as  if  they  were  sinful.  I  con- 
fessed them,  I  did  penance  for  them.  I  sat  up  in 
prayer  and  I  struggled  against  sleep  to  avoid  these 
guilty  illusions,  but  they  ever  returned.  The  struggle 
impaired  my  strength,  which  soon  began  to  abandon 
me.  Without  being  sickly,  I  was  delicate ;  the  harsh 
life  of  the  cloister,  its  fasts,  its  abstinences,  its  mace- 
rations, the  fatigue  of  the  night  services,  the  sepul- 
chral chill  of  the  church,  the  rigours  of  the  long 
winter,  against  which  I  was  ill  protected  by  the  thin 


177 


SPI RITE 


serge  dress,  and  above  all,  the  struggle  in  my  soul, 
the  alternate  exaltation  and  despair,  doubt  and  fervour, 
the  fear  of  delivering  to  my  Divine  spouse  a  heart 
distracted  by  human  attachments,  and  of  suffering 
celestial  vengeance — for  God  is  jealous;  and  perhaps 
also  the  jealousy  inspired  in  me  by  Mme.  d'Ymber- 
court  — all  these  causes  acted  disastrously  upon  me. 
My  complexion  had  become  of  a  mat,  waxy  tint ;  my 
eyes,  showing  larger  in  my  wasted  face,  shone  with 
the  light  of  fever  in  their  dark  orbits ;  the  veins  of 
my  temples  stood  out  in  a  network  of  darker  azure; 
my  lips  had  lost  their  fresh,  rosy  colour ;  my  hands 
had  become  slender  and  transparent  like  the  hands  of 
a  shadow.  Death  is  not  dreaded  in  the  convent  as  it 
is  in  the  world.  In  the  convent  it  is  joyfully  wel- 
comed, for  it  is  the  deliverer  of  the  soul,  the  door 
opening  into  heaven,  the  end  of  the  trials,  and  the 
beginning  of  beatitude.  God  withdraws  to  Himself 
earlier  than  others  those  He  prefers,  those  He  loves, 
and  shortens  their  passage  through  the  vale  of  sorrow 
and  tears.  Prayers  full  of  hope  in  their  funereal 
psalmody  surround  the  deathbed  of  the  dying  nun, 
whom  the  sacraments  purify  of  every  terrestrial  stain 
and  on  whom  beams  the  splendour  of  the  other  world. 


178 


SPIRITE 


She  is  to  her  sisters  an  object  of  envy,  and  not  of 
terror. 

"  I  saw  the  fatal  day  approaching  without  fear.  I 
hoped  that  God  would  forgive  me  my  only  love,  so 
chaste,  so  pure,  and  so  involuntary,  and  which  I  had 
endeavoured  to  forget  as  soon  as  it  had  appeared 
culpable  in  my  own  eyes.  I  hoped  that  He  would 
receive  me  in  His  grace.  Soon  I  became  so  weak 
that  I  would  swoon  away  at  prayers,  and  remain  as  if 
dead  under  my  veil,  with  my  face  to  the  ground. 
My  immobility  was  respected,  for  it  was  mistaken 
for  ecstasy.  Then,  when  it  was  seen  that  I  did  not 
rise,  two  sisters,  bending  towards  me,  would  make  me 
sit  up  like  an  inert  body,  and,  their  hands  under  my 
arms,  would  lead  me,  or  rather  carry  me  back  to  my 
cell,  which  before  long  I  was  unable  to  leave.  I 
would  remain  for  long  hours  on  my  bed,  dressed, 
counting  my  beads  with  my  thin  fingers,  lost  in  some 
vague  meditation,  and  asking  myself  if  my  hope  would 
be  fulfilled  after  death.  My  strength  was  visibly  ebb- 
ing, and  the  remedies  proposed  for  my  illness  dimin- 
ished my  sufferings,  but  did  not  cure  me.  Nor  did  I 
wish  to  be  cured,  for  beyond  this  life  I  had  a  hope 
long  caressed,  the  possible  realisation  of  which  inspired 


179 


SPIRITE 


me  with  a  sort  of  curiosity  to  enter  the  other  world. 
My  passage  from  this  world  to  the  other  was  most 
gentle.  All  the  bonds  between  mind  and  matter  had 
been  broken  except  one,  more  tenuous  a  thousand 
times  than  the  light  cobwebs  that  float  in  the  air  of  a 
fine  autumn  day;  it  alone  held  back  my  soul  ready  to 
open  its  wings  in  the  breath  of  the  Infinite.  Alterna- 
tions of  light  and  shade,  like  the  intermittent  light  of 
a  night-light  before  it  goes  out,  palpitated  before  my 
already  dim  eyes  ;  the  prayers  murmured  near  me  by 
the  kneeling  sisters,  and  which  I  tried  to  join  in 
mentally,  reached  me  only  as  a  confused  buzzing,  as 
a  vague,  distant  rumour.  My  deadened  senses  had 
ceased  to  perceive  anything  earthly;  my  thoughts, 
abandoning  my  brain,  fluttered  uncertain  in  a  strange 
dream  half-way  between  the  material  and  the  imma- 
terial world,  no  longer  belonging  to  the  one  and  not 
yet  pertaining  to  the  other,  while  mechanically  my 
fingers,  pale  as  ivory,  were  rumpling  and  drawing  up 
the  folds  of  the  sheet. 

"  At  last  my  agony  began,  and  I  was  stretched  on 
the  ground,  a  bag  of  ashes  under  my  head,  to  die  in  the 
humble  attitude  which  becomes  a  poor  servant  of  God, 
giving  back  her  dust  to  the  dust,    Breathing  became 


SPIRITE 


more  and  more  difficult  j  I  stifled ;  a  feeling  of  fear- 
ful anguish  racked  my  breast ;  it  was  the  instinct 
of  nature  in  me  still  fighting  against  destruction.  But 
soon  the  useless  struggle  ceased,  and  with  a  faint  sigh 
my  soul  was  exhaled  from  my  lips. 


181 


SPIRITE 

XII 

HUMAN  words  cannot  render  the  sensation 
of  a  soul  which,  freed  from  its  earthly 
bonds,  passes  from  this  life  into  the  next, 
from  time  into  eternity,  from  the  finite  into  infinity. 
My  motionless  body,  already  white  with  a  mat  white- 
ness, the  livery  of  death,  lay  upon  the  funeral  couch 
surrounded  by  the  nuns  in  prayer;  but  I  was  as 
thoroughly  freed  from  it  as  the  butterfly  is  from  its 
chrysalis,  an  empty  shell,  a  shapeless  form,  which  it 
abandons  to  open  its  young  wings  to  the  unknown 
light  suddenly  revealed  to  it.  An  interval  of  deepest 
darkness  had  been  followed  by  dazzling  splendour,  by 
the  broadening  of  the  horizon,  by  the  disappearance  of 
every  limit  and  every  obstacle,  and  by  the  intoxication 
of  inexpressible  joy.  The  sudden  accession  of  new 
sensations  made  me  understand  mysteries  closed  to 
terrestrial  thought  and  organs.  Freed  from  the  frame 
of  clay,  no  longer  subject  to  the  law  of  gravity,  which 
but  a  moment  before  still  fettered  me,  I  sprang  with 


182 


SPIRITE 


delighted  eagerness  into  the  unfathomable  ether.  Dis- 
tance had  ceased  to  exist  for  me,  and  my  mere  wish 
enabled  me  to  be  wherever  I  wished  to  be.  More 
swiftly  than  light  I  soared  in  great  circles  through  the 
illimitable  azure  of  space,  as  if  to  take  possession  of 
immensity;  crossing  and  recrossing  on  my  way  swarms 
of  souls  and  spirits. 

"  The  atmosphere  was  formed  of  an  ever-burning 
light  shining  like  diamond-dust,  and  I  soon  perceived 
that  every  grain  of  the  dazzling  powder  was  a  soul. 
It  was  full  of  currents,  eddies,  billows,  shimmerings 
like  the  fine  dust  that  is  spread  over  a  sounding- 
board  in  order  to  study  sonorous  vibrations,  and  all 
these  movements  caused  increased  brilliancy  in  the 
splendour.  The  numbers  which  mathematics  can  fur- 
nish to  calculators  who  venture  into  the  depths  of  the 
infinite,  cannot,  with  their  millions  of  zeros  adding  their 
tremendous  power  to  the  initial  number,  give  even  an 
approximate  idea  of  the  tremendous  multitude  of  souls 
which  compose  this  effulgence,  differing  from  the 
material  light  as  much  as  day  differs  from  night. 

"  To  the  souls  that  since  the  creation  of  our  world 
and  of  other  spheres,  had  already  passed  through  the 
trials  of  life,  were  joined  expectant  or  virgin  souls, 

^3 


SPIRITE 


awaiting  their  turn  to  be  incarnated  in  a  body  on  a 
planet  belonging  to  some  one  system  or  another. 
There  were  enough  of  them  to  people  for  thousands 
and  thousands  of  years  all  these  worlds,  the  breath  of 
God,  which  He  will  re-absorb  by  drawing  back  to  Him- 
self His  own  breath  when  He  becomes  weary  of  His 
work.  These  souls,  though  differing  in  essence  and 
aspect  according  to  the  globe  they  were  to  inhabit, 
recalled,  every  one  of  them,  in  spite  of  the  infinite 
variety  of  their  types,  the  Divine  type,  and  were  made 
in  the  image  of  their  Maker.  Their  constituent  monad 
was  the  celestial  spark.  Some  were  white  as  the  dia- 
mond ;  others  were  of  the  colour  of  rubies,  emeralds, 
sapphires,  topazes,  and  amethysts.  For  lack  of  terms 
intelligible  to  you,  I  make  use  of  these  names  of  gems, 
mere  pebbles,  opaque  crystals  black  as  ink,  the  most 
brilliant  of  which  make  but  a  dark  spot  against  that 
background  of  living  splendour. 

"  Sometimes  there  swept  by  a  great  angel,  bearing  an 
order  of  God  to  the  very  ends  of  the  infinite,  and  mak  - 
ing the  universe  oscillate  by  the  beating  of  its  vast  wings. 
The  Milky  Way  was  poured  out  over  the  heavens  in  a 
great  stream  of  glowing  suns.  The  stars,  which  I  be- 
held in  their  real  form  and  size,  so  enormous  that  the 


84 


SPI RITE 


imagination  of  man  cannot  possibly  conceive  it,  flamed 
with  vast,  terrific  fulguration.  Behind  these  and  be- 
tween them,  at  depths  more  and  more  vertiginous,  I 
saw  others  and  still  others,  so  that  nowhere  was  the 
end  of  the  firmament  visible,  and  I  might  well  have 
believed  myself  enclosed  in  the  centre  of  a  prodigious 
sphere  constellated  internally  with  stars.  Their  light, 
white,  yellow,  blue,  green,  red,  was  of  such  intensity 
and  brightness  as  to  make  the  light  of  our  own  sun 
seem  black,  but  the  eyes  of  my  soul  stood  it  without 
the  least  difficulty.  I  came  and  went,  ascended  and 
descended,  traversed  in  a  second  millions  of  leagues 
through  the  light  of  rainbow-like  reflections,  golden 
and  silver  irradiations,  diamond-like  phosphorescence, 
stellar  outbursts,  amid  all  the  magnificence,  all  the 
beatitudes,  all  the  ravishments  of  the  divine  life. 

"  I  heard  the  music  of  the  spheres,  the  echo  of  which 
struck  the  ear  of  Pythagoras  ;  a  mysterious  harmony, 
the  pivot  of  the  universe,  marked  the  rhythm.  With 
a  harmonious  sound,  as  tremendous  as  thunder  and  as 
soft  as  the  flute,  our  own  world,  borne  away  by  its 
central  sun,  moved  slowly  through  space,  and  with 
one  glance  I  beheld  the  planets,  from  Mercury  to 
Neptune,  describing   their  ellipses,  accompanied  by 

~rt5 


,k  .4*      »i»  'i>  .k    rj^  ^»  sjrtlr  jbtl?«fedbdbdl?  si?  «fe  «j?  ti?sfe 
SPI  RITE 


their  satellites.  A  rapid  intuition  revealed  to  me  the 
names  by  which  they  are  known  in  heaven,  acquainted 
me  with  their  structure,  with  the  thought  and  purpose 
of  their  creation ;  no  secret  of  that  prodigious  life  was 
concealed  from  me.  I  read  as  in  an  open  book  the 
poem  of  God,  the  lines  of  which  were  formed  of  suns. 
Would  it  were  permissible  for  me  to  explain  some  of 
its  pages  to  you  !  But  you  are  still  living  in  inferior 
darkness,  and  your  eyes  would  be  blinded  by  the 
dazzling  effulgence. 

"  In  spite  of  the  ineffable  beauty  of  this  wondrous 
spectacle,  I  had  not,  however,  forgotten  earth,  the  poor 
habitation  I  had  just  left.  My  love,  triumphant  over 
death,  followed  me  beyond  the  tomb,  and  I  saw  with 
divine  voluptuousness,  with  radiant  felicity,  that  you 
loved  no  one,  that  your  soul  was  free,  and  that  you 
might  be  mine  forever.  Then  I  knew  what  I  had  dimly 
felt  before.  We  were  predestined  one  for  the  other  ; 
our  souls  formed  one  of  those  celestial  pairs  which, 
when  they  unite,  form  an  angel.  But  these  two  halves 
of  the  supreme  whole,  in  order  to  meet  in  immortality, 
must  have  sought  each  other  in  life,  divined  each  other 
under  the  veil  of  the  flesh,  through  trials,  obstacles,  and 
distractions.    I  alone  had  felt  the  presence  of  my  sister 

186 


dbdbdfe    i:  ±  &  rk  ±  4r  i?4:4:ik£:ik'k&£4:ik  4:  sbtfc 

SPI RI TE 


soul  and  had  hastened  towards  it,  urged  on  by  an 
unerring  instinct.  In  you,  perception,  not  so  clear, 
had  merely  put  you  on  your  guard  against  vulgar  bonds 
and  loves.  You  had  understood  that  none  of  the  souls 
around  you  were  intended  for  you,  and  passionate, 
though  apparently  cold,  you  had  reserved  yourself  for  a 
higher  ideal.  Thanks  to  the  favour  shown  me,  I  could 
make  you  know  the  love  which  you  had  ignored  during 
my  life,  and  I  hoped  to  inspire  you  with  the  desire  to 
follow  me  within  the  sphere  in  which  I  dwell.  I  felt 
no  regret,  for  what  could  the  best  of  human  ties  be, 
compared  with  the  happiness  of  two  souls  in  the  eter- 
nal kiss  of  divine  love  ?  Until  the  supreme  moment 
arrived,  my  task  consisted  in  preventing  the  world 
from  engaging  you  in  its  ways,  and  separating  you 
from  me  forever.  Marriage  binds  in  this  world  and 
the  next,  but  you  did  not  love  Madame  d'Ymbercourt. 
As  a  spirit  I  could  read  within  your  heart,  and  I  had 
nothing  to  fear  on  this  account ;  yet,  not  meeting  the 
ideal  you  dreamed  of,  you  might  have  become  tired, 
and  through  fatigue,  indolence,  discouragement,  or  the 
need  of  changing  your  state  of  life,  you  might  have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  drawn  into  that  commonplace 
union. 


187 


SPIRITE 

"  Leaving  the  fount  of  light,  I  flew  earthward,  where 
I  saw  your  globe  rolling  beneath  me  in  its  foggy  atmos- 
phere, and  its  strata  of  clouds.  I  found  you  easily, 
and  I  watched  over  your  life,  an  invisible  witness, 
reading  your  thoughts  and  influencing  them  without 
your  being  conscious  of  it.  Through  my  presence, 
which  you  did  not  even  suspect,  I  drove  away  the  ideas 
and  caprices  which  might  have  turned  you  from  the 
aim  towards  which  I  directed  you.  Little  by  little  I 
detached  your  soul  from  every  earthly  bond ;  to  keep 
you  more  safely,  I  cast  over  your  home  a  mysterious 
spell  which  made  you  love  it.  When  there,  you  felt 
around  you  a  sort  of  faint,  impalpable  caress,  and  ex- 
perienced inexpressible  comfort.  It  seemed  to  you, 
though  you  could  not  account  for  it,  that  your  happi- 
ness lay  within  the  walls  which  I  filled  with  life.  The 
lover  who,  on  a  stormy  night,  reads  his  favourite  poet, 
by  a  bright  fire,  while  his  sleeping  mistress  lies,  her 
head  on  her  arm,  in  the  deep  alcove,  lost  in  pleasant 
dreams,  feels  just  such  deep  happiness  in  the  soli- 
tude of  love.  Nothing  could  induce  him  to  leave ;  for 
his  whole  world  is  contained  within  that  room.  I  had 
to  prepare  you  gradually  to  behold  me,  and  mysteriously 
establish  relations  with  you.     Between  a  spirit  and  an 


188 


SPI  RITE 


uninitiated  living  being  communications  are  difficult.  A 
deep  gulf  separates  this  world  from  the  other.  I  had 
crossed  it,  but  it  was  not  enough  ;  I  still  had  to  make 
myself  visible  to  your  eyes,  that  were  yet  covered  with 
a  bandage  and  unable  to  perceive  the  immaterial 
through  the  opacity  of  matter. 

"  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  bent  upon  marrying  you,  at- 
tracted you  to  her  home,  and  wearied  you  with  her 
eagerness.  Substituting  my  will  for  your  sleeping 
thought,  I  made  you  write  that  reply  to  the  lady's 
note  in  which  your  secret  sentiments  betrayed  them- 
selves and  which  caused  you  so  much  surprise.  The 
idea  of  the  supernatural  awoke  in  you,  and  having 
become  more  attentive,  you  understood  that  a  mys- 
terious power  had  entered  into  your  life.  The  sigh 
which  I  uttered  when,  in  spite  of  my  warning,  you 
made  up  your  mind  to  go  out,  faint  and  soft  though 
it  was,  like  the  vibration  of  an  aeolian  harp,  troubled 
you  deeply,  and  awoke  hidden  sympathy  in  your  soul. 
You  had  recognised  in  it  the  note  of  feminine  suffer- 
ing. I  could  not  then  manifest  myself  to  you  in 
plainer  fashion,  for  you  were  not  sufficiently  free 
from  the  bonds  of  matter.  I  therefore  appeared  to 
the  Baron  de  Feroe,  a  disciple  of  Swedenborg  and  a 

189 


SPI  RITE 


seer,  to  beg  him  to  speak  to  you  the  mysterious  words 
which  put  you  on  your  guard  against  the  peril  you 
were  running,  and  inspired  you  with  the  desire  to  pene- 
trate into  the  world  of  spirits  to  which  my  love  called 
you.  You  know  the  rest.  Now  am  I  to  return  to  the 
regions  above,  or  am  I  to  remain  here  below,  and  will 
the  shadow  be  happier  than  was  the  woman  ?  " 

Here  the  impulse  that  had  driven  Malivert's  pen 
over  the  paper  stopped,  and  Guy's  power  of  thought, 
suspended  for  a  time  by  the  influence  of  Spirite,  re- 
sumed possession  of  his  brain.  He  read  what  he  had 
just  unconsciously  written,  and  was  strengthened  in 
the  resolve  to  love  till  death  the  charming  soul  which 
had  suffered  for  him  during  her  short  stay  upon  earth. 

"  But  what  shall  our  relations  be  ?  "  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  Will  Spirite  take  me  away  with  her  into  the 
regions  where  she  dwells,  or  will  she  hover  around  me, 
visible  to  me  alone  ?  Will  she  answer  me  if  I  speak 
to  her  ?  and  how,  in  that  case,  shall  I  understand  her  ?  " 
These  questions  were  not  easy  to  answer,  so  Malivert, 
after  having  turned  them  over  in  his  mind,  gave  up  the 
effort  and  remained  plunged  in  a  deep  reverie,  from  which 
Jack  roused  him  by  announcing  the  Baron  de  Feroe. 


90 


SPIRITE 


The  two  friends  shook  hands  heartily,  and  the 
Swede  with  the  pale  golden  moustache  threw  himself 
into  an  arm-chair. 

"  Guy,  I  have  come  very  unceremoniously  to  break- 
fast with  you,"  he  said,  stretching  out  his  feet  on  the  fen- 
der. "  I  went  out  early  this  morning,  and  on  passing 
your  house,  I  was  seized  with  a  fancy  to  pay  you  a  visit 
almost  as  early  as  if  I  were  an  officer  of  the  law." 

"  You  were  right,  —  it  was  a  happy  thought  on  your 
part,"  replied  Malivert,  ringing  for  Jack,  to  whom  he 
gave  orders  to  serve  breakfast. 

"My  dear  Guy,  you  look  as  if  you  had  not  gone  to 
bed,"  said  the  Baron,  as  he  saw  the  tapers  that  had 
burned  down  to  their  paper  frills,  and  the  sheets  of 
writing  spread  out  on  the  table.  "  You  have  been 
working  during  the  night.  Is  it  a  novel  or  a  poem  ? 
Shall  you  publish  it  soon  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  called  a  poem,"  replied  Malivert,  "  but 
it  is  not  of  my  own  composition.  I  simply  held  the 
pen,  led  by  an  inspiration  superior  to  my  own." 

"  I  understand,"  went  on  the  Baron ;  "  Apollo  dic- 
tated and  Homer  wrote.    Such  verses  are  the  best." 

"  The  poem,  if  it  be  one,  is  not  in  verse,  and  it  was 
no  mythological  god  who  dictated  it  to  me." 

191 


SPI RITE 


"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  forgot  that  you  are  a 
Romanticist,  and  that  with  you  Apollo  and  the 
Muses  must  be  left  to  Chompre's  Dictionary  or  the 
'  Letters  to  Emily  '  !  " 

"  Since  you  have  been  in  some  sort  my  mystagogue 
and  my  initiator  into  things  supernatural,  dear  Baron, 
there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  conceal  from  you  that 
the  writing  which  you  take  for  '  copy,'  to  use  the 
printer's  expression,  was  dictated  to  me  last  night  and 
the  preceding  night  by  the  spirit  who  is  interested  in 
me  and  who  appears  to  have  known  you  on  earth,  for 
you  are  named  in  the  story." 

"  You  served  as  your  own  medium  because  relations 
are  not  yet  well  established  between  you  and  the  spirit 
that  visits  you,"  replied  Baron  de  Feroe;  "but  very 
soon  you  will  be  able  to  dispense  with  these  slow  and 
coarse  means  of  communication.  Your  souls  will 
know  each  other  by  thought  and  desire,  without  any 
external  sign." 

Jack  now  announced  that  breakfast  was  served. 
Malivert,  quite  upset  by  his  strange  adventure,  by  his 
love  affair  from  beyond  the  tomb,  that  Don  Juan 
would  have  envied,  scarcely  ate  the  food  placed  before 
him ;  Baron  de  Feroe  did  eat,  but  with  Swedenborgian 


192 


SPIRITE 


sobriety,  for  whoever  desires  to  live  in  communion 
with  spirits  must  make  the  share  of  matter  as  small 
as  possible. 

"  That  is  excellent  tea  you  have,  Guy,"  said  the 
Baron.  "  It  is  the  white-tipped,  green-leafed  tea  plucked 
after  the  first  spring  rains,  which  Mandarins  drink 
without  sugar,  steeping  it  in  cups  set  in  filigree  holders 
to  avoid  burning  their  fingers.  It  is  the  drink,  par 
excellence,  of  dreamers,  for  the  intoxication  it  produces 
is  purely  intellectual.  Nothing  more  quickly  dispels 
human  grossness  and  better  predisposes  to  the  vision 
of  things  hidden  from  the  vulgar  herd.  Since  you 
are  now  going  to  live  in  an  immaterial  sphere,  I 
recommend  you  to  drink  this  tea.  But  you  are  not 
listening  to  me,  and  I  can  easily  understand  your 
inattention.  So  novel  a  situation  must  strike  you  as 
very  strange." 

"  Yes,  I  confess  it,"  replied  Malivert,  "  I  am  some- 
what dazed,  and  constantly  asking  myself  whether  I  am 
not  a  prey  to  hallucinations." 

"  Drive  away  these  thoughts,  for  they  would  cause 
the  spirit  to  fly  forever.  Do  not  seek  to  explain  the 
inexplicable,  but  yield  with  absolute  faith  and  submis- 
sion to  your  guiding  influence.    The  least  doubt  would 


3 


193 


SPI RITE 


cause  a  break  and  entail  eternal  regret  on  your  part. 
By  special  favour,  but  rarely  accorded,  souls  that  have 
not  met  in  life  may  meet  in  heaven.  Profit  by  the 
chance  given  you  and  show  yourself  worthy  of  such 
happiness." 

"  I  shall  indeed,  and  I  shall  not  again  inflict  on 
Spirite  the  pain  of  which  I  was  the  innocent  cause 
while  she  still  dwelt  in  this  world.  But  now  that  I 
think  of  it,  in  the  story  she  dictated  to  me,  that  ador- 
able soul  has  not  told  me  the  name  which  she  bore 
upon  earth." 

"Would  you  like  to  know  it?  Go  to  Pere-La- 
chaise,  climb  the  hill,  and  near  the  chapel  you  will  see 
a  white  marble  tomb  on  which  is  carved  a  cross  laid 
flat ;  at  the  intersection  of  the  arms  of  the  cross  there 
is  a  wreath  of  roses  with  delicate  marble  leaves,  a 
masterpiece  by  a  famous  sculptor.  In  the  medallion 
formed  by  the  wreath  a  brief  inscription  will  tell  you 
what  I  am  not  formally  authorised  to  impart  to  you. 
The  mute  language  of  the  tomb  shall  speak  in  my 
place,  although,  in  my  opinion,  your  curiosity  is  vain. 
What  matters  a  terrestrial  name  when  an  eternal  love 
is  at  stake?  But  you  are  not  yet  quite  detached  from 
human  ideas,  and  I  can  understand  it,  for  it  is  not  so 


94 


«s?  wl?     tfc  «!?  'J-  ^  ^»  ^        ?{btS?d»  d?        tS?  «S?  TtT  TtTTt? 

SPI  RITE 


long  since  you  stepped  outside  the  circle  that  bounds 
ordinary  life." 

Baron  de  Feroe  took  leave.  Guy  dressed,  had  his 
carriage  brought  round,  and  hastened  to  the  shops  of 
the  most  famous  florists  to  purchase  a  quantity  of 
white  lilac.  As  it  was  winter,  he  found  it  difficult 
to  obtain,  but  in  Paris  there  is  no  such  thing  as  im- 
possibility when  a  man  is  willing  to  pay  ;  so  he  bought 
his  white  lilac  and  ascended  the  hill  with  a  beating 
heart  and  eyes  full  of  tears. 

A  few  flakes  of  snow,  still  unmelted,  shone  like 
silver  tears  upon  the  dark  leaves  of  the  yew-trees,  the 
cypresses,  the  firs,  and  the  ivy,  and  brought  out  with 
white  touches  the  mouldings  of  the  tombs,  the  tops 
and  the  arms  of  the  funereal  crosses.  The  sky  was 
lowering,  of  a  yellowish  gray,  heavy  as  lead,  the  right 
kind  of  a  sky  to  hang  over  a  cemetery,  and  the  sharp 
wind  moaned  as  it  swept  through  the  lines  of  monu- 
ments, made  for  the  dead  and  exactly  proportionate  to 
human  nothingness.  Malivert  soon  reached  the  chapel, 
and  not  far  off,  within  a  border  of  Irish  ivy,  he  saw  a 
white  tomb  made  whiter  still  by  the  light  layer  of  snow. 
He  bent  over  the  railing  and  read  the  inscription  en- 
graved within  the  wreath  of  roses:  "  Lavinia  d'Aufi- 


*95 


SPIRITE 


deni,  in  religion  Sister  Philomena,  died  at  the  age  of 
eighteen." 

He  stretched  his  arm  over  the  railing,  threw  the 
lilacs  over  the  inscription,  and,  although  sure  of  having 
been  forgiven,  remained  for  a  few  moments  by  the 
tomb  in  a  dreamy  contemplation,  his  heart  big  with 
remorse  ;  for  was  he  not  the  murderer  of  that  fair  dove, 
that  had  so  soon  returned  to  heaven  ?  While  he  was 
thus  leaning  on  the  railing  of  the  monument,  letting 
fall  his  hot  tears  upon  the  cold  snow,  that  formed  the 
second  shroud  of  the  virginal  tomb,  there  was  a  break 
in  the  thick  curtain  of  gray  clouds.  Like  light  shining 
through  successive  thicknesses  of  gauze  which  are 
gradually  removed,  the  orb  of  the  sun  appeared  less 
indistinct,  of  a  pale  white,  more  like  the  moon  than  the 
orb  of  day,  the  right  sort  of  sun  to  light  the  dead. 
Little  by  little  the  opening  grew  larger  and  from  it 
streamed  a  long  sunbeam  ;  it  showed  against  the  dark 
background  of  cloud,  and  lighted  up  and  caused  to 
sparkle  under  the  mica  of  the  snow,  as  under  a  winter 
dew,  the  mass  of  white  lilacs  and  the  marble  wreath 
of  roses. 

In  the  luminous  tremulousness  of  the  sunbeam  in 
which  played  icy  dust,  Malivert  thought  he  made  out, 


196 


SPIRITE 


like  a  vapour  from  a  silver  perfume-burner,  a  slender 
white  form  rising  from  the  tomb,  enveloped  in  the 
floating  folds  of  a  gauze  shroud  like  the  robes  of  an 
angel.  The  form  made  a  friendly  gesture  to  him  with 
its  hand,  a  cloud  passed  across  the  sun,  and  the  vision 
disappeared. 

Guy  de  Malivert  withdrew  whispering  the  name  of 
Lavinia  d'Aufideni  to  himself,  re-entered  his  carriage, 
and  drove  back  into  Paris,  which  is  filled  everywhere 
with  the  living  who  do  not  even  suspect  that  they  are 
dead,  for  they  lack  the  inner  life. 


97 


SPI  RITE 
4;  ~Jb  :b  i:  &  £  £    £   -k  &   ih  £  &  &  &  &  &  4s  db  tf: 


XIII 

FROM  that  day  Malivert's  life  was  divided  into 
two  distinct  portions,  the  one  real,  the  other 
spiritual.  There  was  apparently  no  change  in 
him.  He  went  to  the  club  and  into  society,  he  appeared 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  and  on  the  Boulevard.  If 
any  interesting  performance  took  place,  he  was  present 
at  it,  and  to  see  him  dressed  in  good  taste,  with  neat 
shoes  and  well  fitting  gloves,  walking  about  through 
human  life,  no  one  would  have  suspected  that  the 
young  man  was  in  constant  communication  with 
spirits,  or  that,  when  he  left  the  Opera,  he  gazed  into 
the  mysterious  depths  of  the  invisible  universe.  Yet 
on  examining  him  more  closely,  it  would  have  been 
noticed  that  he  was  more  serious,  paler,  thinner,  and 
spiritualised  as  it  were.  The  expression  of  his  face 
was  no  longer  the  same ;  unless  he  was  drawn  out 
of  himself  by  others,  it  exhibited  a  sort  of  disdainful 
beatitude.  Fortunately  society  never  observes  unless 
its  interest  requires  it  to  do  so,  and  Malivert's  secret 
was  not  suspected. 

198 


SPIRITE 


The  evening  after  his  first  visit  to  the  cemetery 
where  he  had  learned  Spirite's  terrestrial  name,  and 
while  waiting  for  a  manifestation  which  he  desired 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  will,  he  heard,  like  drops 
of  water  falling  within  a  silver  basin,  the  sound  of  the 
notes  of  the  piano.  There  was  no  one  in  the  room  ; 
but  prodigies  no  longer  astonished  Malivert.  A  few 
chords  were  struck  in  such  a  way  as  to  command 
attention  and  awaken  his  curiosity.  Guy  looked 
towards  the  piano,  and  little  by  little  there  appeared  in 
a  luminous  mist  the  lovely  form  of  a  young  girl.  At 
first  the  image  was  so  transparent  that  objects  behind 
it  were  visible  through  its  contours,  just  as  the  bottom 
of  a  lake  is  visible  through  its  limpid  waters.  Without 
becoming  in  the  least  material,  it  gradually  condensed 
sufficiently  to  look  like  a  living  figure,  but  filled  with 
such  light,  impalpable,  aerial  life  that  it  resembled 
rather  the  reflection  of  a  body  in  a  mirror  than  the 
body  itself.  Certain  sketches  of  Prud'hon,  scarcely 
rubbed  in  with  thin,  vague  contours,  bathed  in  chiaro- 
scuro and  surrounded,  as  it  were,  with  violet  vapour, 
the  white  draperies  seeming  to  be  made  of  moonbeams, 
may  give  a  faint  idea  of  the  graceful  apparition  then 
seated   before  Malivert's  piano.    The  pale  fingers. 


99 


4:4:4:  4:  4;  4:  4:  4:  4:  4:  i:4s£:&!k&£:4:4:&£:  A  4:4 

SPIRITE 


faintly  flushed,  glided  over  the  ivory  keys  like  white 
butterflies,  merely  touching  the  keys  but  bringing  out 
the  sound,  although  the  gentle  contact  would  not  have 
bowed  the  feather  of  a  pen.  The  notes,  without  hav- 
ing to  be  struck,  flashed  out  of  themselves  when  the 
luminous  hands  fluttered  above  them.  A  long  white 
dress  of  an  ideal  muslin  infinitely  finer  than  the  Indian 
tissues  which  can  be  drawn  through  a  ring,  fell  in 
abundant  folds  around  her  and  foamed  over  her  feet 
like  snow.  Her  head,  bent  slightly  forward  as  if  a 
score  were  open  upon  the  piano,  enabled  the  neck  to 
be  seen  with  its  curling,  golden,  shimmering,  fine  hair, 
as  well  as  the  upper  portion  of  pearly,  opaline  shoul- 
ders, the  whiteness  of  which  melted  into  the  whiteness 
of  the  dress.  Between  the  bandeaux  that  rose  and  fell 
as  if  lifted  by  the  wind,  shone  a  narrow  starry  band, 
the  ends  of  which  were  fastened  on  the  chignon. 
From  where  Malivert  sat,  one  ear  and  a  portion  of  the 
cheek  showed,  blooming,  rosy,  velvety,  of  a  tone  that 
would  have  made  the  colour  of  a  peach  look  earthv. 
It  was  Lavinia,  or  Spirite,  to  call  her  by  the  name  she 
has  borne  hitherto  in  this  story.  She  looked  around 
rapidly,  to  make  sure  that  Guy  was  attentive  and  that 
she  might  begin.     Her  blue  eyes  shone  with  a  tender 


200 


SPIRITE 


light  that  penetrated  his  soul;  there  was  still  something 
of  the  maiden  in  that  angelic  look. 

The  piece  that  she  played  was  the  work  of  a  great 
master,  one  of  those  inspirations  in  which  human 
genius  seems  to  foresee  the  infinite,  and  which  now 
express  so  powerfully  the  secret  desires  of  the  soul, 
and  again  recall  the  remembrance  of  the  heavens  and 
the  paradise  from  which  it  has  been  driven.  It  was 
full  of  ineffable  melancholy,  of  ardent  prayer,  of  low 
murmurs,  last  revolts  of  pride  dashed  from  light  into 
darkness.  Spirite  interpreted  all  these  feelings  with  a 
maestria  that  made  one  forget  Chopin,  Liszt,  Thalberg, 
those  wizards  of  the  piano.  Guy  seemed  to  be  hear- 
ing music  for  the  first  time.  A  new  art  was  being 
revealed  to  him.  Innumerable  new  thoughts  awoke 
within  his  soul;  the  notes  stirred  in  him  such  deep, 
divine,  interior  vibrations  that  he  felt  he  must  have 
heard  them  in  a  former  life  that  he  had  since  forgotten. 
Spirite  not  only  rendered  all  the  intentions  of  the 
master,  she  expressed  the  ideal  he  had  dreamed  of,  but 
which  human  infirmity  had  not  allowed  him  to  attain. 
She  fulfilled  his  genius,  she  made  perfection  perfect, 
she  added  to  the  absolute. 

Guy  had  unconsciously  arisen  and  walked  to  the 


201 


SPIRITE 


piano  like  a  somnambulist.  He  remained  standing, 
leaning  his  elbow  upon  the  corner  of  the  instrument, 
his  eyes  gazing  ardently  at  those  of  Spirite. 

Her  expression  was  truly  sublime.  Her  head,  up- 
lifted and  somewhat  thrown  back,  showed  her  face 
illumined  by  the  splendours  of  ecstasy.  Inspiration 
and  love  shone  with  supernatural  brilliancy  in  her  eyes, 
the  azure  of  which  almost  disappeared  under  the  upper 
eyelid;  her  half-opened  lips  gleamed  like  pearls,  and 
her  neck,  bathed  in  bluish  transparencies  like  those  of 
the  heads  in  Guido's  ceilings,  swelled  like  the  neck  of 
a  mystic  dove.  The  woman  was  diminishing  in  her, 
the  angel  augmenting  ;  and  the  intensity  of  light  which 
she  shed  around  her  was  so  brilliant  that  Malivert  was 
constrained  to  turn  away  his  eyes. 

Spirite  noticed  this,  and  in  a  voice  more  harmonious 
and  sweeter  than  the  music  she  was  playing,  she  whis- 
pered, "  Poor  friend  !  I  forgot  that  you  are  still  con- 
fined within  your  terrestrial  prison  and  that  your  eyes 
cannot  bear  the  faintest  ray  of  true  light.  Later  I  shall 
show  myself  to  you  such  as  I  am,  in  the  sphere  whither 
you  will  follow  me.  Meanwhile  the  shadow  of  my 
mortal  form  suffices  to  manifest  my  presence  to  you, 
and  you  can  contemplate  me  thus  without  peril." 


202 


 SPIRITE  " 

By  invisible  gradations  she  returned  from  super- 
natural beauty  to  natural  beauty ;  the  wings  of  Psyche 
that  had  for  a  moment  fluttered  on  her  shoulders,  dis- 
appeared again  ;  her  material  appearance  became  some- 
what more  condensed,  and  a  milky  cloud  spread  about 
her  suave  contours,  bringing  them  out  more  plainly,  as 
water  in  which  a  drop  of  essence  is  thrown  shows 
more  clearly  the  lines  of  the  crystal  that  contains  it. 
Lavinia  was  reappearing  through  Spirite,  somewhat 
vaporous,  no  doubt,  but  sufficiently  real  to  cause  an 
illusion. 

She  had  ceased  to  play,  and  was  looking  at  Mali- 
vert,  who  stood  before  her,  —  a  faint  smile  playing  on 
her  lips,  a  smile  of  celestial  irony,  of  divine  arch- 
ness, which  mocked  human  debility  while  consoling  it, 
while  her  eyes,  purposely  dimmed,  still  expressed  the 
tenderest  love,  but  such  love  as  a  chaste  maiden  might 
allow  to  be  seen  on  earth  by  the  man  to  whom  she 
was  engaged.  Malivert  might  indulge  in  the  belief 
that  he  was  with  the  Lavinia  who  had  sought  him  so 
earnestly  while  alive,  and  from  whom  he  had  always 
been  separated  by  ironical  fate.  Carried  away,  fas- 
cinated, palpitating  with  love,  forgetting  that  he  had 
before  him  but  a  shadow,  he  advanced,  and  by  an  in- 


203 


SPI  RITE 


stinctive  motion  sought  to  take  one  of  Spirite's  hands, 
still  resting  on  the  piano,  and  bear  it  to  his  lips;  but 
his  fingers  closed  on  hers  without  touching  anything, 
as  if  they  had  passed  through  a  mist.  Although  she 
had  nothing  to  fear,  Spirite  withdrew  with  a  gesture  of 
offended  maidenliness  ;  soon,  however  her  angelic  smile 
reappeared,  and  she  raised  to  Guy's  lips,  who  felt  a 
soft  freshness  and  a  faint,  delicious  perfume,  her  hand 
made  of  transparent,  rosy  light. 

"  I  forgot,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which  was  not 
formulated  into  words,  but  which  Guy  heard  within 
his  heart,  "  that  I  am  no  longer  a  girl,  but  a  soul,  a 
shadow,  an  impalpable  vapour  with  nothing  of  human 
sense  ;  so  what  Lavinia  might  perhaps  have  refused, 
Spirite  grants,  not  as  a  pleasure,  but  as  a  sign  of  pure 
love  and  eternal  union."  And  she  left  for  a  few 
seconds  her  hand  under  the  imaginary  kiss  of  Guy. 

Soon  she  returned  to  the  piano,  and  played  an  air  of 
incomparable  power  and  sweetness,  in  which  Guy 
recognised  one  of  his  poems,  —  his  favourite  one,  — 
transposed  from  the  language  of  verse  into  the  language 
of  music.  It  was  an  inspiration  in  which,  disdaining 
vulgar  joys,  he  soared  eagerly  towards  the  higher  spheres 
in  which  the  poet's  desire  is  at  last  to  be  satisfied. 


204 


SPIRITE 


Spirite,  with  marvellous  intuition,  rendered  the  unuttered 
words,  the  unphrased  human  speech,  the  unsaid  in 
the  best  written  verse,  the  mysteriousness,  the  depth, 
the  secrecy  of  things,  the  unavowed  aspirations,  the 
indescribable,  the  inexpressible,  the  desideratum  of 
thought  incapable  of  greater  effort,  —  all  the  softness, 
the  grace,  the  suavity  which  overflow  the  too  dry  con- 
tours of  words.  To  the  fluttering  wings  that  rose  in 
air  with  such  desperate  rush,  she  opened  the  paradise 
of  realised  dreams,  of  fulfilled  hopes.  She  stood  on  the 
luminous  threshold,  in  a  scintillation  before  which  the 
suns  turn  pale,  divinely  beautiful  and  yet  humanly  ten- 
der, opening  her  arms  to  the  soul  thirsting  for  the 
ideal,  which  is  the  end  and  the  recompense,  the  starry 
crown  and  the  cup  of  love,  —  a  Beatrix  revealed  be- 
yond the  tomb.  In  a  phrase  filled  with  purest  passion 
she  told,  with  divine  reticence,  and  celestial  modesty, 
that  she  herself,  in  the  leisure  of  eternity  and  the  splen- 
dour of  the  infinite,  would  satisfy  all  his  unsatisfied 
desires.  She  promised  to  his  genius  happiness  and 
love  such  as  the  imagination  of  man,  even  when  in 
communion  with  a  spirit,  cannot  conceive  of. 

While  playing  the  finale,  she  had  risen,  her  hands 
no  longer  even  pretending  to  touch  the  keys  ;  yet  the 


205 


SPI  RITE 


melodies  escaped  from  the  piano  in  visible  coloured 
vibrations,  spreading  through  the  atmosphere  of  the 
room  in  luminous  undulations  like  those  which  vary 
the  flamboyant  radiance  of  the  aurora  borealis. 
Lavinia  had  disappeared  and  Spirite  reappeared,  but 
taller,  more  majestic,  enshrined  in  a  brilliant  light. 
Long  wings  fluttered  on  her  shoulders ;  she  had  al- 
ready, though  plainly  she  desired  to  remain,  left  the 
floor  of  the  room  ;  the  folds  of  her  dress  floated  in 
space ;  an  all-compelling  breath  bore  her  away,  and 
Malivert  found  himself  alone  in  a  state  of  agitation 
easy  to  understand.  But  little  by  little  he  grew  calm, 
and  delightful  languor  followed  upon  the  feverish 
excitement.  He  felt  the  satisfaction  so  rarely  experi- 
enced by  poets  and,  it  is  said,  by  philosophers,  at  having 
been  understood  in  the  most  delicate  and  the  deepest 
parts  of  his  imagination.  How  brilliantly  and  radiantlv 
Spirite  had  commented  on  that  poem,  the  meaning  and 
force  of  which  he  had  never  yet  so  well  understood  ! 
How  thoroughly  her  soul  identified  itself  with  his  own, 
and  her  thought  penetrated  his ! 

The  next  day  he  made  up  his  mind  to  work.  His 
inspiration,  which  had  abandoned  him  for  a  long  time, 
was  returning,  ideas  crowded  in  his  brain,  unlimited 


206 


•1*  »4»        r£%  rl*         »i«  »A»         •!»  *^^|jt^tl«  •!?  tl?  t^Tts?  tfetfetl?  4?  Si? 

SPIRITE 


horizons,  endless  perspectives  opened  before  his  eyes, 
a  world  of  new  sensations  surged  within  his  breast,  and 
to  express  them  he  asked  of  speech  more  than  it  is  able 
to  do.  The  old  forms,  the  worn-out  moulds  burst 
asunder,  and  sometimes  the  molten  phrase  broke  forth 
and  overflowed  in  splendid  splashes  like  rays  of  broken 
stars.  Never  had  he  risen  to  such  heights,  and  the 
greatest  poets  would  willingly  have  signed  what  he 
wrote  on  that  day. 

As,  having  finished  a  stanza,  he  was  thinking  of  the 
next,  he  allowed  his  glance  to  roam  around  the  room 
and  saw  Spirite  half  lying  on  the  divan,  her  chin  resting 
on  her  hand,  her  elbow  sunk  in  the  pillow,  her  slender 
fingers  playing  in  the  golden  waves  of  her  hair.  She 
was  watching  him  with  a  loving,  contemplative  look. 
She  seemed  to  have  been  there  a  long  time,  but  had 
not  cared  to  reveal  her  presence  lest  she  should  break 
in  upon  his  work.  As  Malivert  rose  from  his  arm- 
chair to  draw  nearer  to  her,  she  signed  to  him  not  to 
move,  and  in  a  voice  softer  than  any  music,  she 
repeated,  stanza  by  stanza,  line  by  line,  the  poem 
he  had  been  writing.  By  a  mysterious  sympathy 
she  felt  her  lover's  thought,  followed  it  in  its  flight, 
and  even  outstripped  it,  for  not  only  did  she  see, 


207 


&  4: 4: 4:  &  it  "k  £  ^:  i:  "kik  :S:  db  d:  tt:  4: 4:  db  ti:  4? 

SP1RITE 

but  she  foresaw,  and  she  said  in  full  the  unfinished 
stanza  the  end  of  which  he  was  still  seeking. 

The  poem,  as  will  be  readily  understood,  was 
addressed  to  Spirite.  On  what  other  subject  could 
Malivert  have  written  ?  Carried  away  by  his  love 
for  her,  he  scarcely  remembered  earth,  and  plunged 
into  the  heavens  as  high  and  as  far  as  wings  attached 
to  human  shoulders  could  bear  him. 

"That  is  beautiful,"  said  Spirite,  whose  voice  Mali- 
vert heard  within  his  breast,  for  it  did  not  reach  his  ear 
like  ordinary  sounds.  "  It  is  beautiful,  even  for  a 
spirit.  Genius  is  truly  divine,  it  invents  the  ideal.  It 
sees  higher  beauty  and  eternal  light.  Whither  can  it 
not  ascend  when  it  has  the  wings  of  faith  and  love  ? 
But  descend  again,  come  back  to  the  regions  the  air  of 
which  may  be  breathed  by  mortal  lungs.  Your  nerves 
are  trembling  still  like  the  cords  of  a  lyre,  your  brow 
smokes  like  a  censer,  a  feverish  light  burns  in  your 
eyes.  Beware  of  madness,  for  ecstasy  is  akin  to  it. 
Calm  yourself,  and  if  you  love  me,  live  still  your 
human  life,  for  it  is  my  wish." 

In  order  to  obey  her,  Malivert  went  out,  and  al- 
though men  seemed  to  him  only  like  distant  shadows, 
like  phantoms  with  whom  he  had  nothing  in  common, 


208 


SPIRITE 


he  tried  to  mingle  with  them,  he  endeavoured  to  interest 
himself  in  the  news  and  rumours  of  the  day,  and  smiled 
at  the  description  of  the  wonderful  costume  worn  by 

Mile.  at  the  last  ball.     He  even  agreed  to  play 

whist  with  the  old  Duchess  de  C  .  Everything 

was  equally  indifferent  to  him. 

But  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  cling  to  life,  an  amorous 
attraction  drew  him  beyond  the  terrestrial  sphere.  He 
desired  to  walk  and  felt  himself  rise  ;  he  was  a  prey  to 
irresistible  desire.  The  apparitions  of  Spirite  no  longer 
sufficed  him  ;  his  soul  hastened  after  her  when  she 
disappeared,  as  if  seeking  to  leave  his  body.  Love, 
excited  by  impossibility,  and  burning  yet  with  some- 
thing of  an  earthly  flame,  devoured  him  and  clung  to 
his  flesh  as  the  poisoned  tunic  of  Nessus  clung  to  the 
flesh  of  Hercules.  In  his  rapid  contact  with  Spirite, 
he  had  been  unable  to  entirely  throw  off  the  old 
Adam.  He  could  not  hold  in  his  arms  the  aerial 
phantom  of  Spirite,  but  that  phantom  represented 
the  image  of  Lavinia  with  an  illusion  of  beauty  that 
sufficed  to  blind  his  passion  and  to  make  him  forget 
that  the  adorable  form,  the  loving  eyes,  the  sweetly 
smiling  mouth,  were,  after  all,  but  a  shadow  and  a 
reflection. 


14 


209 


SPIRITE 


At  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night  Guy  beheld  before 
him  the  alma  adorata,  sometimes  as  a  pure  ideal  in  the 
splendour  of  Spirite,  sometimes  in  the  more  humanly 
feminine  appearance  of  Lavinia.  Now  she  soared 
above  his  head  with  the  dazzling  flight  of  an  angel, 
again  she  seemed  seated  in  the  great  arm-chair,  lying 
on  the  divan,  or  leaning  on  the  table.  She  appeared 
to  look  at  the  papers  scattered  on  his  desk,  to  breathe 
the  scent  of  the  flowers  in  the  jardiniere,  to  open  the 
books,  to  move  the  rings  in  the  onyx  cup  placed  on 
the  mantelpiece,  and  to  give  herself  up  to  the  puerilities 
of  passion  allowable  to  a  young  girl  who  has  entered 
by  chance  the  room  of  her  betrothed.  Spirite  enjoyed 
showing  herself  to  Guy  such  as  Lavinia  would  have 
been  had  fate  favoured  her  love.  She  was  living  again, 
after  death,  and  chapter  by  chapter,  her  chaste  boarding- 
school  girl  romance.  With  a  little  coloured  vapour 
she  reproduced  her  dresses  of  old,  placed  in  her  hair  the 
same  flower,  or  the  same  ribbon  ;  her  shadow  assumed 
once  more  the  same  grace,  the  same  attitude,  and  the 
poses  of  her  maidenly  body.  She  had  wished,  moved 
by  a  coquetry  that  proved  the  woman  had  not  wholly 
disappeared  in  the  angel,  that  Malivert  should  love  her 
not  only  with  the  posthumous  love  addressed  to  Spirite, 


210 


SPI RITE 


but  as  she  had  been  during  her  life  on  earth,  when  at 
the  Opera,  in  ball-rooms,  in  society,  she  sought  the 
ever  missed  opportunity  of  meeting  him. 

Had  not  his  lips  touched  but  a  void  when,  carried 
away  by  desire,  mad  with  love,  drunk  with  passion,  he 
indulged  in  some  useless  caress,  he  might  have  believed 
that  he,  Guy  de  Malivert,  had  really  married  Lavinia 
d'Aufideni,  so  clear,  coloured,  and  living  did  the  vision 
become  at  times.  In  a  perfectly  consonant  sympathy 
he  heard  internally,  but  as  in  a  real  conversation, 
the  voice  of  Lavinia  with  its  youthful,  fresh,  silvery 
timbre,  answering  his  burning  confessions  by  chaste 
and  modest  caresses. 

It  was  indeed  the  torture  of  Tantalus  ;  the  cup  full 
of  ice-water  was  held  to  his  burning  lips  by  a  loving 
hand,  but  he  could  not  even  touch  the  edge  ;  the  per- 
fumed grapes,  the  colour  of  amber  and  rubies,  hung 
over  his  head,  but  vanished  as  they  evaded  an  impossi- 
ble touch.  The  short  intervals  during  which  Spirite 
left  him,  recalled  no  doubt  by  some  invincible  order 
pronounced  in  that  place  where  one  can  what  one 
wills,  had  become  unbearable  to  him,  and  when  she 
disappeared  he  felt  like  dashing  out  his  brains  against 
the  wall  that  closed  upon  her. 


211 


SPI RITE 


One  evening  he  said  to  himself :  "  Since  Spirite 
cannot  put  on  an  earthly  frame  and  mingle  in  my  life 
otherwise  than  as  a  vision,  what  if  I  were  to  cast  off 
this  troublesome  mortal  coil,  this  gross,  heavy  shape, 
which  prevents  my  rising  with  the  adored  soul  into 
the  spheres  where  spirits  dwell  ?  " 

The  idea  struck  him  as  sound.  He  rose  and 
selected  from  a  trophy  of  barbaric  weapons  hanging 
from  the  wall,  —  tomahawks,  assegais,  boarding  cut- 
lasses,—  an  arrow  feathered  with  parrot  feathers  and 
tipped  with  a  sharp  head  of  fishbone.  The  arrow  had 
been  dipped  in  curare,  that  terrible  poison  of  which 
South  American  Indians  alone  possess  the  secret,  and 
which  kills  the  victim  without  any  antidote  being  able 
to  save  him. 

He  was  holding  the  arrow  close  to  his  hand  and  was 
about  to  prick  himself  with  it,  when  suddenly  Spirite 
appeared  to  him,  terrified,  horror-struck,  and  supplicat- 
ing, casting  around  his  neck  her  shadowy  arms  with  a 
movement  of  mad  passion,  pressing  him  to  her  phan- 
tom heart,  covering  him  with  impalpable  kisses.  The 
woman  had  forgotten  that  she  was  only  a  spirit. 

"  Unfortunate  Guy  !  "  she  cried.  "  Do  not  do  that ! 
Do  not  kill  yourself  to  join  me  !    Your  death  thus 


212 


SPIRITE 


brought  about  would  separate  us  hopelessly,  and  would 
open  between  us  abysses  that  millions  of  years  would 
not  enable  us  to  cross.  Recover  yourself !  Bear  with 
life,  the  longest  term  of  which  does  not  last  more  than 
a  grain  of  sand.  In  order  to  endure  the  time,  think 
of  the  eternity  during  which  we  can  ever  love  each 
other,  and  forgive  my  coquetry.  The  woman  wished 
to  be  loved  as  the  spirit  was  ;  Lavinia  was  jealous  of 
Spirite,  and  I  nearly  lost  you  forever." 

Resuming  her  angelic  form,  she  stretched  out  her 
hands  above  Malivert's  head,  who  felt  celestial  calm 
and  coolness  descending  upon  him. 


213 


SPI RITE 


XIV 


MME.  D'YMBERCOURT  was  surprised  at 
the  little  effect  that  her  flirtation  with 
M.  d'Aversac  had  had  upon  Guy  de 
Malivert.  Her  lack  of  success  entirely  upset  all  her 
ideas  of  feminine  strategy.  She  believed  that  nothing 
could  revive  love  so  well  as  a  touch  of  jealousy,  but 
she  forgot  that  love  had  first  to  exist.  She  had  taken 
it  for  granted  that  a  young  fellow  who  had  called 
pretty  regularly  on  her  Wednesdays  for  the  past  three 
years,  who  sometimes  brought  her  a  bouquet  on  opera 
nights  and  remained  awake  at  the  back  of  her  box, 
must  necessarily  be  somewhat  in  love  with  her.  Was 
she  not  beautiful,  elegant,  and  rich  ?  Did  she  not  play 
the  piano  like  a  prize-winner  at  the  Conservatory  ? 
Did  she  not  pour  out  tea  as  correctly  as  Lady 
Penelope  herself?  Did  she  not  write  her  morning 
notes  in  an  English  hand,  long,  sloping,  angular,  and 
thoroughly  aristocratic  ?  What  objection  could  be 
made  to  her  carriages  purchased  from   Binder,  her 


214 


r£*  »in    >!/•  »4»  #i»  t|?  tf?t»?t??£^?£»  ?~   sl»  d»  •£? 
SPIRI  TE 


horses  bought  from  and  warranted  by  Cremieux  ? 
Were  her  footmen  not  handsome  fellows,  and  did  they 
not  bear  the  appearance  of  aristocratic  lackeys  ?  Did 
not  her  dinners  deserve  to  be  approved  by  experts  ? 
It  seemed  to  her  that  all  these  things  formed  a  very 
comfortable  ideal.  Nevertheless,  the  lady  in  the  sleigh 
whom  she  had  caught  sight  of  at  the  Bois  de  Boulogne 
bothered  her  considerably,  and  several  times  she  had 
driven  around  the  lake  with  the  idea  of  meeting  her 
and  seeing  whether  she  was  followed  by  Malivert. 
The  lady,  however,  did  not  reappear,  and  Mme.  d'Ym- 
bercourt's  jealousy  had  nothing  to  work  upon.  Be- 
sides, no  one  knew  her  or  had  seen  her.  Was  Guy 
in  love  with  her,  or  had  he  simply  yielded  to  curiosity 
when  he  drove  Grimalkin  in  pursuit  of  the  stepper? 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  could  not  make  it  out ;  so  she 
concluded  that  she  had  frightened  away  Guy  by  her 
suggestion  that  he  was  compromising  her.  She  now 
regretted  having  uttered  the  remark,  which  she  had 
made  only  to  induce  him  to  declare  himself  formally, 
for  Guy,  much  too  faithful  to  his  orders,  and,  besides, 
taken  up  with  Spirite,  had  refrained  from  calling  on 
her.  His  complete  obedience  piqued  the  Countess, 
who  would  have  preferred  to  have  him  less  submissive. 


215 


4: 4: 4: 4?  4;  4:  4?  •&  4:  4:  4: 4:4:4:4:^:^:4;  4: 4: 4:  4:4:4: 

SPI RITE 


Although  her  suspicions  had  no  other  foundation  than 
the  brief  vision  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  she  felt  that 
there  was  some  love  concealed  behind  this  excessive 
care  for  her  reputation.  Yet  apparently  nothing  was 
changed  in  Guy's  life,  and  Jack,  secretly  questioned 
by  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt's  maid,  had  assured  her  that 
he  had  not  for  a  long  time  heard  the  faintest  rustle  of 
silk  on  the  private  stairs  of  his  master,  who,  besides, 
went  out  very  little,  saw  scarcely  any  one  but  Baron 
de  Feroe,  lived  like  a  hermit,  and  spent  the  greater 
part  of  his  nights  in  writing. 

D'Aversac  increased  his  attentions,  and  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  accepted  them  with  the  tacit  gratitude 
of  a  woman  who  feels  somewhat  abandoned  and  needs 
to  be  reassured  as  to  the  effect  of  her  charms  by  new 
worship.  She  was  not  in  love  with  d'Aversac,  but  she 
was  grateful  to  him  for  prizing  what  Guy  seemed  to 
disdain ;  so  on  the  Tuesday  at  the  performance  of 
"  La  Traviata "  it  was  noticed  that  Malivert's  seat 
was  occupied  by  d'Aversac  in  white  gloves  and  white 
necktie,  a  camellia  in  his  buttonhole,  curled  and 
pomaded  like  a  lady-killer  who  still  has  hair  of  his 
own,  and  radiant  with  self-satisfaction.  He  had  long 
nourished   the  hope  of  making  an   impression  upon 


216 


?=? ^Jj  t{?  j|?      tl«  sf?   tl?  tl»  4?  4?  tS» 

SPI  RITE 

Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  but  the  marked  preference  she 
accorded  to  Guy  de  Malivert  had  thrown  him  into  the 
background  among  the  indifferent  adorers  who  crowd 
more  or  less  round  a  pretty  woman  waiting  for  an 
opportunity,  a  break,  or  a  fit  of  annoyance  which  never 
occurs.  He  was  full  of  smiling  attentions.  He  held 
out  to  her  her  glasses  or  her  programme,  smiled  at  her 
least  remarks,  bowed  mysteriously  in  answer,  and  when 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  brought  together  the  tips  of  her 
white  gloves  to  approve  some  note  sung  by  the  diva, 
he  applauded  heartily,  raising  his  hands  as  high  as  his 
head.  In  a  word,  he  publicly  took  possession  of  his 
office  of  attendant  lover. 

In  some  of  the  boxes  people  were  already  beginning 
to  say,  "  Is  the  marriage  of  Malivert  and  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  off?  "  There  was  a  slight  manifestation 
of  curiosity  when  Guy  showed  at  the  entrance  of  the 
orchestra  stalls  after  the  first  act,  and  when  he  was 
seen,  as  he  inspected  the  hall,  to  glance  at  the  Coun- 
tess's box.  D'Aversac,  who  had  also  caught  sight  of 
him,  felt  a  little  uneasy,  but  the  most  perspicacious 
examination  failed  to  notice  the  least  sign  of  contra- 
riety on  Malivert's  face.  He  neither  blushed  nor 
turned  pale;  his  brows  did  not  bend,  not  a  muscle  of 


217 


SPI RITE 


his  face  moved ;  he  did  not  have  the  terribly  grim 
aspect  of  a  jealous  lover  at  the  sight  of  his  fair  courted 
by  another ;  he  looked  perfectly  calm  and  utterly 
serene.  The  expression  of  his  face  was  that  which 
comes  from  the  radiancy  of  a  secret  joy,  and  on  his 
lips  fluttered,  as  the  poet  says,  — 

"  The  mysterious  smile  of  inward  delight." 

"  If  Guy  were  loved  by  a  fairy  or  a  princess,  he 
could  not  look  more  triumphant,"  said  an  old  habitue 
of  the  balcony,  a  Don  Juan  emeritus.  "  If  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  cares  for  him,  she  may  as  well  give  him 
up,  for  she  will  never  call  herself  Mme.  de  Malivert." 

Between  the  acts  Guy  paid  a  short  visit  to  the 
Countess's  box  to  bid  her  farewell,  for  he  was  about 
to  start  on  a  trip  to  Greece.  He  was  naturally  polite 
to  d'Aversac,  without  any  trace  of  exaggeration,  nor 
did  he  have  the  coldly  ceremonious  look  which  people 
assume  when  they  are  vexed.  He  shook  hands  very 
quietly  with  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  whose  face  betrayed 
her  emotion,  great  as  was  the  effort  which  she  made  to 
appear  indifferent.  The  blush  which  suffused  her  cheeks 
when  Guy  left  his  box  to  come  to  her  stall  had  been 
replaced  by  a  pallor  of  which  rice  powder  was  wholly 


218 


SPIRITE 


innocent.  She  had  looked  for  annoyance,  anger,  a 
movement  of  passion,  a  mark  of  jealousy,  perhaps  even 
a  quarrel.  His  genuine  coolness  upset  her  and  caught 
her  unprepared.  She  had  believed  that  Malivert  loved 
her,  and  now  she  saw  that  she  had  been  mistaken. 
This  discovery  wounded  at  once  her  pride  and  her 
heart.  Guy  had  inspired  her  with  a  livelier  affection 
than  she  knew,  and  she  felt  unhappy.  The  comedy 
that  she  had  been  playing,  now  that  it  was  proved 
useless,  wearied  and  bored  her.  When  Malivert  had 
gone,  she  leaned  upon  the  edge  of  the  box  and  replied 
only  in  monosyllables  to  the  compliments  addressed  to 
her  by  d'Aversac,  who  was  very  much  put  out  by  her 
silence  and  her  coolness.  He  did  not  understand  how 
it  was  that  winter  had  succeeded  spring ;  the  sudden 
frost  withered  the  roses.  "  Have  I  said  or  done  any- 
thing foolish  ? "  asked  of  himself  the  poor  fellow  who 
a  moment  ago  was  so  well  received.  "  Can  it  be  that 
she  is  making  fun  of  me?  Guy's  ease  of  manner  just 
now  was  affected,  and  the  Countess  seemed  very  much 
moved.    I  wonder  if  she  still  loves  Malivert." 

However,  as  d'Aversac  knew  that  he  was  being 
watched  by  a  certain  number  of  glasses,  he  went  on 
playing  his  part,  and  bent  towards  the  countess,  whis- 


219 


±£    i:  ££££££££££££  £££ 

SPI RITE 


pering  in  her  ear  with  an  intimate  and  mysterious  air 
commonplaces  that  anybody  might  have  listened  to. 

The  old  habitue,  who  was  very  much  amused  by 
this  little  drama,  followed  the  incidents  of  it  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye.  "  D'Aversac  is  putting  a  good  face 
on  his  ill  luck,  but  he  is  not  the  man  for  such  a  game. 
However,  he  is  a  fool,  and  fools  are  sometimes  lucky 
with  women.  Cupid  gets  along  very  well  with  folly, 
and  Laridon  succeeds  Caesar,  especially  when  Caesar 
does  not  care  for  his  empire.  But  who  can  be  Guy's 
new  mistress  ? "  Such  were  the  reflections  of  the 
veteran  Cytherean,  as  well  up  in  theory  as  he  had  been 
in  practice,  while  he  followed  Malivert's  glances  to 
see  whether  they  rested  upon  any  of  the  beautiful 
women  who  shone  in  the  boxes  like  jewels  in  a  case. 
Could  it  be  that  vaporous  blonde  with  the  wreath  of 
silver  leaves,  the  water-green  dress,  and  opal  ornaments, 
who  seemed  to  have  touched  up  her  complexion  with  a 
moonbeam  like  a  wraith  or  a  nixie,  and  who  gazed 
sentimentally  at  the  chandelier  as  if  it  were  the  orb  of 
night  ?  Or  was  it  the  brunette  with  hair  darker  than 
night,  with  a  profile  carved  out  of  marble,  eyes  like 
black  diamonds,  red  lips,  so  living  under  her  warm 
pallor,  so  passionate  under  her  statuesque  calm,  and 

220 


SPI RITE 


who  might  be  taken  for  the  daughter  of  the  Venus  of 
Milo,  if  that  divine  masterpiece  deigned  to  have  chil- 
dren. No,  it  was  neither  of  them,  neither  the  moon 
nor  the  sun.  The  Russian  princess  in  the  stage-box 
yonder,  with  her  extraordinary  dress,  her  exotic  beauty, 
and  her  extravagant  grace,  might  have  some  chance, 
for  Guy  was  rather  fond  of  eccentricity,  and  his  travels 
had  inspired  him  with  rather  barbaric  tastes.  Yet  it 
was  not  she  either ;  Guy  had  just  looked  at  her  as 
coldly  as  if  he  were  examining  a  malachite  cofFer. 
Why  might  it  not  be  the  Parisian  in  the  open  box, 
dressed  in  perfect  taste,  clever,  witty,  pretty,  whose 
every  motion  seemed  to  follow  the  sound  of  a  flute  and 
to  raise  a  foam  of  lace,  as  if  she  were  dancing  on  a 
panel  in  Herculaneum.  Balzac  would  have  devoted 
thirty  pages  to  the  description  of  such  a  woman,  and  it 
would  have  been  style  used  to  good  purpose.  She  was 
worth  it.  But  Guy  was  not  civilised  enough  to  taste 
the  charm  which  seduced,  even  more  than  did  beauty, 
the  author  of  the  "  Comedie  Humaine."  —  "  Well,  I 
shall  have  to  give  up  fathoming  this  mystery  to-day," 
said  the  old  beau,  as  he  put  back  into  his  case  a  pair 
of  glasses  that  looked  like  siege  guns.  "  The  lady  that 
occupies  Malivert's  thoughts  is  undoubtedly  not  here." 


221 


•jU  «!-»  »t«  rl/»  »K  »i.  »i*  rl^t  »|-»  al**j|*«J^«^»l9«£«»^^v^»i*«4* 

SPIRITE 

As  people  left  the  house  d'Aversac  was  standing 
under  the  balustrade  in  as  elegant  an  attitude  as  can  be 
assumed  by  a  gentleman  wrapped  up  in  a  great-coat. 
He  was  by  the  side  of  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  who  had 
thrown  over  her  dress  a  pelisse  of  satin  edged  with 
swan's-down,  the  hood  of  which  fell  back  on  her  shoul- 
ders and  left  her  head  bare.  The  countess  was  pale, 
and  that  evening  she  was  really  beautiful.  The  pain 
she  felt  imparted  to  her  face,  usually  coldly  regular,  an 
expression  and  a  feeling  of  life  it  had  lacked  hitherto. 
For  the  rest,  she  seemed  to  have  wholly  forgotten  her 
escort,  who  remained  within  a  couple  of  paces  of  her 
with  a  set  gravity  that  sought  to  dissimulate  and  to 
express  much. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt  to- 
night ?  "  said  a  young  man  who  stood  in  the  vestibule 
to  watch  the  procession  of  beauties ;  "  she  seems  to 
have  acquired  a  new  beauty.  D'Aversac  is  a  lucky 
fellow." 

"  Not  so  very  lucky,  after  all,"  said  a  young  man 
with  a  clever,  intelligent  face,  who  looked  like  a  por- 
trait of  Van  Dyck  taken  from  its  frame.  "  It  is  not 
he  who  has  given  to  the  Countess's  face,  usually  as 
inexpressive  as  a  wax  mask  moulded  on  a  Venus  by 


222 


SPIRITE 

Canova,  the  animation  and  the  accent  you  notice. 
The  spark  comes  from  elsewhere.  D'Aversac  is  not 
the  Prometheus  of  this  Pandora;  wood  cannot  give  life 
to  marble." 

"  Never  mind,"  replied  another ;  "  I  wonder  at 
Malivert  giving  up  the  Countess  just  at  this  time. 
She  deserves  rather  better  than  d'Aversac  to  avenge 
her.  I  do  not  know  if  Guy  can  find  a  handsomer 
woman,  and  he  may  have  cause  to  repent  his  disdain." 

"  It  would  be  a  mistake  in  him  to  do  so,"  replied 
the  Van  Dyck  portrait.  "  Pray  follow  me.  Mme. 
d'Ymbercourt  is  handsomer  to-day  than  usual  because 
she  is  moved.  Now,  if  Malivert  had  not  given 
her  up,  she  would  not  feel  any  emotion,  and  her 
classical  features  would  remain  insignificant.  The 
phenomenon  which  surprises  you  would,  therefore, 
not  have  taken  place ;  so  Malivert  is  right  to  go  off 
to  Greece,  as  he  said  last  night  at  the  club  he  would 
do.  Dlxir 

The  footman  announcing  the  Countess's  carriage 
put  an  end  to  this  conversation,  and  more  than  one 
young  fellow  committed  the  sin  of  envy  on  seeing 
d'Aversac  get  into  the  coupe  with  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt. 
The  door  was  closed  by  the  lackey,  who  climbed  to 


223 


4:4:  -k  4:  4:  db  4?  4:  4:  4: 4:ir4r4:!l:^:4;d;4:4:^?  4: 4:4: 

SPIRITE 


the  box  in  a  twinkling,  and  the  carriage  went  off  at 
full  speed.  D'Aversac,  half  hidden  in  the  folds  of 
satin,  close  to  his  partner,  breathing  in  the  vague  scent 
she  gave  out,  tried  to  profit  by  the  short  tete-a-tete  and 
to  say  a  few  tenderly  gallant  words  to  the  Countess. 
He  had  to  find  at  once  something  decisive  and  passion- 
ate, for  there  was  no  great  distance  from  the  Place 
Ventadour  to  the  Rue  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin;  but 
Guy's  rival  was  not  good  at  improvisation,  and  besides, 
it  must  be  confessed  that  he  received  scant  encour- 
agement from  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  who,  silent  and 
nestling  in  the  corner  of  the  coupe,  was  biting  the 
corner  of  her  lace  handkerchief.  While  d'Aversac 
was  laboriously  trying  to  work  out  a  loving  phrase, 
Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  who  had  not  listened  to  a  single 
word  of  it,  busy  as  she  was  following  out  her  own 
thoughts,  caught  him  suddenly  by  the  arm  and  said  to 
him  sharply,  "Do  you  know  who  is  the  new  mistress 
of  M.  de  Malivert  ?  " 

This  unexpected  and  astonishing  question  greatly 
shocked  d'Aversac.  It  was  not  wholly  proper,  and  it 
proved  that  the  Countess  had  not  thought  of  him  for  a 
moment.  The  castle  in  Spain  of  his  hopes  fell  in 
ruins  before  this  breath  of  passion. 


224 


SPI RITE 


"  I  do  not  know,"  stammered  d' Aversac ;  "  but  if  I 
did,  discretion  —  and  politeness  —  would  prevent  — 
Any  well-bred  man  on  such  occasions  knows  what  is 
his  duty  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  the  Countess,  in  short,  sharp 
accents.  "  Men  stand  by  each  other  even  when  they 
are  rivals.  I  shall  not  learn  anything."  Then,  after 
a  short  silence,  partly  mastering  herself,  she  said,  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  M.  d'Aversac.  I  am  terri- 
bly nervous  to-night,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  saying 
absurd  things.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  and  come 
to  see  me  to-morrow,  —  I  shall  be  quieter.  Here  I  am 
at  home,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him. 
"  Where  is  my  coachman  to  take  you  ?  "  And  with  a 
rapid  step  she  got  out  of  the  coupe  and  ascended  the 
stairs  without  allowing  d'Aversac  to  assist  her. 

So  it  may  be  seen  that  it  is  not  always  as  pleasant 
as  naive  young  fellows  imagine  to  take  home  a  beauti- 
ful lady,  and  even  to  ride  in  her  carriage  from  the 
Opera  to  the  Chaussee  d'Antin.  D'Aversac,  rather 
sat  upon,  had  himself  driven  to  the  club  in  the  Rue 
de  Choiseul  where  his  own  carriage  was  awaiting  him. 
He  played  and  lost  some  hundred  louis,  which  did  not 
help  to  improve  his  temper.    As  he  returned  home, 


5 


225 


SPI  R  ITE 

he  said  to  himself,  "  How  the  devil  does  Malivert 
manage  to  make  all  the  women  fall  in  love  with 
him  ?  " 

Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  after  giving  herself  up  to  the 
care  of  her  maid,  who  undressed  her  and  made  her 
ready  for  the  night,  put  on  a  wrapper  of  white  cash- 
mere, and  leaned  on  a  desk,  her  hand  plunged  in  her 
hair.  She  remained  thus  for  some  time,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  paper,  turning  her  pen  in  her  fingers.  She 
wished  to  write  to  Guy,  but  it  was  a  difficult  matter. 
Her  thoughts,  which  crowded  in  her  brain,  disappeared 
when  she  tried  to  express  them  in  a  phrase.  She 
scribbled  five  or  six  notes,  crossed,  interlined,  illegible, 
in  spite  of  her  beautiful  English  hand,  without  manag- 
ing to  satisfy  herself.  She  said  either  too  much  or  too 
little,  she  did  not  succeed  in  expressing  the  feelings  in 
her  heart.  She  tore  up  and  threw  into  the  fire  every 
note,  and  finally  managed  to  produce  this  :  — 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  dear  Guy,  at  my  coquettish  im- 
pulse, a  very  innocent  one,  I  assure  you,  for  my  sole 
object  was  to  make  you  a  little  bit  jealous  and  to  bring 
you  back  to  me.  You  know  very  well  that  I  love 
you,  although  you  do  not  love  me  very  much.  Your 
cold,  quiet  look  froze  my  very  heart.     Forget  what  I 


226 


Tt?  T=T  tI?     ^7         ^  ^»  ^  ^4?^!?^!?dl?t5?d?d»  d»         ?|?  s8?tfe 

SPIRITE 

have  said  to  you.  It  was  a  wicked  friend  who  made 
me  speak.  Are  you  really  going  off  to  Greece  ?  Do 
you  really  need  to  flee  from  me,  who  have  no  other 
thought  than  to  please  you  ?  Do  not  go ;  your  absence 
would  make  me  too  wretched." 

The  Countess  signed  the  note  "  Cecilia  d'Ymber- 
court,"  sealed  it  with  her  arms,  and  wished  to  send 
it  at  once,  but  as  she  rose  to  summon  her  attendant, 
the  clock  struck  two.  It  was  too  late  to  send  a  man 
to  the  very  end  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  where 
Guy  lived.  "Never  mind,"  she  said,  "I  will  send 
my  note  very  early  and  Guy  shall  have  it  when  he 
wakes,  if  only  he  is  not  then  gone." 

She  went  to  bed  tired  and  worn  out,  closing  her 
eyes  in  vain.  She  thought  of  the  lady  in  the  sleigh 
and  said  that  Malivert  loved  her,  and  jealousy  drove 
its  sharp  fangs  into  her  heart.  At  last  she  fell  asleep, 
but  her  sleep  was  agitated ;  she  constantly  started 
awake,  worse  than  the  night  before.  A  little  lamp 
hung  from  the  ceiling  by  her,  the  night-light  fixed  in 
a  globe  of  blue  ground-glass  cast  in  the  room  an  azure 
light  like  that  of  the  moon,  and  lighted  with  soft,  mys- 
terious beam  the  head  of  the  Countess,  whose  loosened 
hair  spread  out  in  great  black  ringlets  on  the  white 


227 


SPI  RITE 


pillow,  concealing  one  of  her  arms  hanging  out  of 
the  bed. 

At  the  bed-head,  little  by  little  a  faint,  transparent, 
bluish  vapour  like  the  smoke  from  a  perfume-burner 
gradually  condensed,  assumed  more  decided  contours, 
and  soon  showed  as  a  young  girl  of  celestial  beauty, 
whose  golden  hair  formed  a  luminous  aureole  around 
her.  Spirite,  for  it  was  she,  watched  the  sleeping 
woman  with  the  air  of  melancholy  pity  that  angels 
must  wear  on  beholding  human  suffering.  Bending 
towards  her  like  the  shadow  of  a  dream,  she  let  fall 
upon  her  brow  two  or  three  drops  of  a  sombre  liquor 
contained  in  a  little  flagon  like  the  lacrymatory  urns 
found  in  the  tombs  of  antiquity,  whispering  mean- 
while :  "  Since  you  are  no  longer  a  danger  to  him 
whom  I  love,  and  can  no  longer  separate  his  soul  from 
mine,  I  take  pity  on  you,  for  you  are  suffering  on  his 
account,  and  I  bring  you  the  divine  nepenthe.  For- 
get and  be  happy,  O  you  who  caused  my  death  !  " 

The  vision  disappeared.  The  features  of  the  lovely 
sleeper  softened  as  if  a  pleasant  dream  had  succeeded 
to  a  painful  nightmare.  A  faint  smile  fluttered  over 
her  lips,  by  an  unconscious  movement  she  drew  back 
under  the  clothes  her  beautiful  arm,  which  was  as  cold 


228 


ts?  d&  «r  ^?  4r  wb  db'    tic       j?iJ?tl?tl?db^?il?tfctl?j?  it?  tf?  si? 

SPIRI TE 


and  white  as  marble,  and  covered  herself  up  under  the 
light  eider-down  quilt.  Her  tranquil  and  restorative 
sleep  lasted  until  morning,  and  when  she  awoke,  the 
first  thing  she  noticed  was  her  letter  upon  the  table. 

"  Shall  I  have  this  letter  taken  ?  "  said  Aglae,  who 
had  just  entered  the  room  to  open  the  curtains,  and 
saw  her  mistress's  glance  rest  upon  the  note. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  cried  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt,  quickly, 
"  throw  it  into  the  fire."  Then  she  added  to  herself, 
"What  was  I  thinking  of  to  write  such  a  letter?  I 
must  have  been  crazy." 


229 


SPIRITE 

XV 

THE  steamer  from  Marseilles  to  Athens  was 
off  Cape  Malia,  the  last  dentellation  of  the 
mulberry  leaf  which  forms  the  point  of 
Greece  and  has  given  it  its  modern  name.  Fog  and 
cloud  had  been  left  behind.  It  was  a  passing  from 
night  to  light,  from  cold  to  warmth.  The  gray  tints 
of  the  Western  skies  had  been  succeeded  by  the  azure 
of  the  Oriental  heavens,  and  the  sea,  of  a  deep  blue, 
rose  and  fell  softly  under  a  favouring  wind,  which  the 
steamer  turned  to  advantage  by  setting  its  smoke- 
blackened  jibs,  like  the  sombre-coloured  sails  which 
Theseus  hoisted  by  mistake  when  he  returned  from 
the  isle  of  Crete,  where  he  had  slain  the  Minotaur.  It 
was  near  the  end  of  February,  and  already  the  ap- 
proach of  spring,  so  late  with  us,  was  felt  in  that  happy 
clime  beloved  of  the  sun.  The  air  was  so  balmy  that 
most  of  the  passengers,  who  had  already  got  over  sea- 
sickness, remained  on  deck  watching  the  coast,  of 
which  they  caught  a  glimpse  through  the  blue  haze  of 

230 


SPIRITE 

evening.  Above  the  darker  zone  rose  a  mountain  still 
visible,  on  whose  snowy  summit  yet  gleamed  a  ray  of 
light.  It  was  Taygetus  ;  which  enabled  the  travelling 
bachelors  of  arts  who  knew  a  few  lines  of  Latin  to 
quote  with  satisfied  pedantry  the  well-known  verses  of 
Virgil.  A  Frenchman  who  quotes  correctly — which 
is  rare  —  a  Latin  line,  is  very  nearly  as  perfectly  happy 
as  it  is  possible  for  him  to  be.  As  regards  Greek  lines, 
that  is  a  happiness  reserved  for  Germans  and  English- 
men fresh  from  Jena  or  Oxford. 

On  the  slatted  benches  and  camp-stools  that  encum- 
bered the  stern  of  the  ship  were  young  ladies  wearing 
overcoats  with  huge  buttons,  small  hats  with  blue  veils, 
their  abundant  brown  hair  enclosed  in  nets,  their  trav- 
elling-bags hung  about  their  neck  by  a  strap.  They 
were  looking  at  the  coast  shrouded  in  the  evening 
shadows,  with  glasses  strong  enough  to  make  out  the 
satellites  of  Jupiter.  Some,  bolder  and  better  sailors, 
were  walking  the  deck  with  the  stride  that  drill-ser- 
geants and  teachers  of  walking  teach  to  British  girls. 
Others  were  talking  with  gentlemen  irreproachably 
dressed  and  of  perfect  manners.  There  were  also 
Frenchmen,  pupils  of  the  School  of  Athens,  painters, 
architects,  who  had  won  the  prize  of  Rome  and  who 


231 


 SPIRITE  

were  going  for  inspiration  to  the  sources  of  true 
beauty.  These,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth, 
when  it  has  hope  before  it  and  a  small  sum  in  its 
pocket,  were  joking,  laughing  noisily,  smoking  cigars 
and  indulging  in  heated  discussions  on  aesthetics.  The 
reputations  of  the  great  masters  of  ancient  and  modern 
times  were  discussed,  ridiculed  or  lauded  ;  everything 
was  admirable  or  absurd,  sublime  or  stupid,  for  young 
men  always  go  to  extremes  and  know  no  middle  way. 
They  would  never  marry  King  Modus  to  Queen 
Ratio ;  that  union  takes  place  much  later  in  life. 

In  this  animated  group  was  a  young  man  draped  in 
his  mantle  like  a  philosopher  of  the  Portico,  and  who 
was  neither  a  painter,  a  sculptor,  nor  an  architect,  but 
whom  the  travelling  artists  called  in  as  arbitrator  when 
a  discussion  ended  in  obstinate  negation  on  either  side. 
It  was  Guy  de  Malivert.  His  judicious  and  clever 
remarks  proved  that  he  was  a  true  connoisseur,  an  art 
critic  worthy  of  the  name  ;  and  these  very  disdainful 
young  fellows,  who  sneered  at  any  one  who  had  not 
handled  the  brush,  the  chisel,  or  the  drawing-pen,  as  a 
bourgeois^  listened  to  him  with  deference  and  sometimes 
even  adopted  his  views.  The  conversation  ended, 
for  everything  ends,  even  a  discussion  on  the  ideal 


232 


*r  *h    «tr  '.1?  tib    tl?  »|«  ^j^    »i»  «|«  >j<  »i»  >jU  rj*   »ju  »4»  »4»  *J»  •I*  »j« 

SPI RI TE 


and  the  real,  and  the  disputants,  their  throats  rather 
dry,  descended  to  the  saloon  to  wet  their  whistles 
with  a  glass  of  grog  or  other  warm  and  restorative 
drinks, 

Malivert  remained  alone  on  the  bridge.  Night  had 
fallen,  and  it  was  now  quite  dark.  In  the  deep  azure 
sky,  the  stars  shone  with  a  vivacity  and  a  brilliancy  no 
one  can  imagine  unless  he  has  seen  the  sky  of  Greece. 
Their  reflections  were  lengthened  in  the  water,  making 
long  wakes,  just  as  if  they  were  lights  placed  upon 
the  bank.  The  foam,  beaten  up  by  the  paddle-wheels, 
flashed  like  innumerable  diamonds,  that  gleamed  for  an 
instant  and  then  vanished  in  a  bluish  phosphorescence. 
The  black  steamer  seemed  to  proceed  through  a  sea 
of  light.  It  was  a  sight  that  would  have  excited  the 
admiration  of  the  most  obtuse  Philistine,  and  as  Mali- 
vert was  not  a  Philistine,  he  enjoyed  it  to  the  full.  It 
did  not  even  occur  to  him  to  go  down  to  the  saloon, 
which  is  always  sickeningly  hot,  and  peculiarly  objec- 
tionable when  one  leaves  the  fresh  air ;  and  he  con- 
tinued walking  up  and  down  the  deck,  moving  around 
the  Levantines  installed  on  carpets  or  thin  mattresses 
along  the  rail  in  the  bows  and  among  the  coils  of 
chains  and  ropes ;   sometimes  he  caused  a  woman, 


233 


SPI RITE 


believing  herself  unnoticed,  to  lower  the  veil  she  had 
drawn  aside  to  enjoy  the  cool  air  of  night. 

Guy  was  keeping  the  promise  he  had  made  not  to 
compromise  Mme.  d'Ymbercourt. 

He  leaned  on  the  bulwarks  and  let  himself  float 
away  into  a  reverie  full  of  sweetness.  No  doubt,  since 
Spirite's  love  had  freed  him  from  earthly  curiosity,  the 
trip  to  Greece  had  ceased  to  inspire  him  with  as  much 
enthusiasm  as  formerly  ;  he  would  have  liked  to  have 
started  on  another  voyage  ;  but  he  no  longer  thought 
of  hastening  his  departure  from  the  world  into  which 
his  thought  already  reached.  He  was  now  aware  of 
the  consequences  of  suicide,  and  waited,  not  too  impa- 
tiently, until  the  hour  should  come  when  he  might  flv 
away  with  the  angel  who  visited  him.  Secure  in  his 
future  happiness,  he  allowed  himself  to  indulge  in  the 
sensation  of  the  present,  and  enjoyed,  like  the  poet  he 
was,  the  superb  spectacle  of  night.  Like  Lord  Byron 
he  loved  the  sea.  Its  eternal  restlessness  and  its  inces- 
sant plaint,  even  in  hours  of  deepest  calm,  its  sudden 
anger  and  its  mad  fury  against  the  immovable  obstacle 
had  always  struck  his  imagination,  which  saw  in  this 
vast  turbulence  a  secret  analogy  with  useless  human 
effort.    What  he  particularly  loved  in  the  sea  was  its 


2  34 


SPIRITE 


immense  isolation,  the  unchanging,  yet  ever  changing 
circle  of  the  horizon,  the  solemn  monotony  and  the 
absence  of  any  sign  of  civilisation.  The  same  billow 
that  uplifted  the  steamer  on  its  broad  back  had  laved 
the  hollow-sided  vessels  of  which  Homer  speaks,  yet 
no  trace  of  the  contact  was  left ;  the  water  had  exactly 
the  same  tone  that  coloured  it  when  it  was  traversed  by 
the  fleet  of  the  Greeks.  The  proud  sea  does  not  pre- 
serve, like  the  earth,  the  marks  of  man's  passage.  It 
is  vague,  immense,  and  deep,  like  the  infinite.  Never, 
therefore,  did  Malivert  feel  happier,  freer,  and  more 
self-possessed  than  when,  standing  in  the  bows  of  a 
ship,  pitching  and  scending,  he  sailed  into  the  un- 
known. Soaked  by  the  foam  that  flew  over  the  decks, 
his  hair  salt  with  the  breath  of  the  sea,  it  seemed  to 
him  as  though  he  were  walking  upon  the  waters ;  and 
just  as  a  horseman  becomes  identified  with  the  speed 
of  his  steed,  so  he  attributed  to  himself  the  swiftness 
of  the  vessel,  and  his  thought  hurried  on  to  meet  the 
unknown. 

Spirite  had  silently  descended  like  thistledown  or 
snowflake  close  to  Malivert,  and  her  hand  rested  on 
the  young  man's  shoulder.  Although  she  was  invisi- 
ble to  every  one,  it  is  possible  to  imagine  the  charming 


235 


•I/.  ri-t  „l,  rj^  rL*  rl.  .L»  rL«  gj»  ji*  jfejfc  tit 

SPIRITE 

group  formed  by  Malivert  and  his  aerial  friend.  The 
moon  had  risen  broad  and  bright,  making  the  stars 
pale,  and  the  night  had  turned  into  a  sort  of  blue  day 
absolutely  magical  in  tone,  like  the  light  in  an  azure 
grotto.  One  of  her  beams  fell  in  the  bows  of  the 
ship  upon  that  Love  and  that  Psyche,  effulgent  in  the 
diamond  scintillation  of  the  foam,  like  two  young  gods 
on  the  prow  of  an  antique  trireme.  Over  the  waters, 
with  a  perpetual  luminous  sparkling,  spread  a  broad 
wake  of  silvery  spangles,  the  reflection  of  the  orb 
risen  above  the  horizon  and  slowly  ascending  into 
the  heavens.  Sometimes  the  swart  back  of  a  dolphin,  a 
descendant,  perhaps,  of  the  one  that  bore  Arion, 
flashed  through  the  shining  wake  and  suddenly  disap- 
peared in  the  shadow,  or  else,  in  the  distance,  like  a 
quivering  red  dot,  appeared  the  light  of  a  vessel. 
From  time  to  time  the  shore  of  an  island,  showing  of  a 
deeper  violet  and  soon  passed,  loomed  for  a  moment. 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  Spirite,  "this  is  a  marvellous 
spectacle,  one  of  the  finest,  if  not  the  very  finest,  which 
the  human  eye  can  gaze  upon  ;  but  it  is  nothing  by 
the  side  of  the  wonderful  prospects  of  the  world  which 
I  leave  to  visit  you,  and  where  soon  we  shall  fly  side  by 
side,  1  like  doves  called  by  the  same  desire.'    This  sea, 


236 


SPIRITE 


which  seems  so  vast  to  you,  is  but  a  drop  in  the  cup 
of  the  infinite,  and  the  pale  orb  which  lights  it,  an 
imperceptible  silver  globule,  is  lost  in  the  terrific  im- 
mensity, like  the  meanest  grain  of  sidereal  dust.  Oh! 
how  I  would  have  admired  this  sight  with  you,  when  I 
still  inhabited  the  earth  and  was  called  Lavinia.  But 
do  not  think  that  I  am  insensible  to  it,  for  I  understand 
its  beauty  through  your  own  feeling." 

"  You  make  me  impatient  to  be  in  your  world,  Spi- 
rite,"  answered  Malivert.  "  Eagerly  I  spring  towards 
those  spheres,  of  a  dazzling  splendour  beyond  im- 
agination or  speech,  which  we  are  to  traverse  to- 
gether and  where  never  again  we  shall  be  separated." 

"Yes,  you  shall  see  them,  you  shall  know  their  mag- 
nificence, their  delight,  if  you  love  me,  if  you  are 
faithful  to  me,  if  your  thought  never  turns  to  anything 
lower,  if  you  allow  the  impure  and  coarse  human  mud 
to  fall  within  you  as  within  still  water.  On  that  con- 
dition we  shall  be  allowed  to  enjoy  eternal  union,  the 
peaceful  intoxication  of  divine  love,  of  unintermittent 
love  without  weakness,  without  weariness,  the  ardour  of 
which  would  melt  suns  like  grains  of  myrrh  cast  on  a 
fire;  we  shall  be  unity  in  duality,  the  ego  in  the  non- 
ego,  motion  in  rest,  desire  in  fulfilment,  freshness  in 


237 


SPI RITE 


flame.  To  deserve  these  supreme  felicities,  think  of 
Spirite  who  is  in  heaven,  and  do  not  think  too  much 
of  Lavinia  who  sleeps  yonder  under  her  carved  wreath 
of  white  roses." 

"  Do  I  not  love  you  madly  ?  "  said  Malivert ;  "with 
all  the  purity  and  ardour  of  which  a  soul  still  held  to 
this  earth  is  capable  ?  " 

"  My  darling,"  replied  Spirite,  "  I  am  satisfied  with 
you." 

And  as  she  spoke  the  words,  her  sapphire  eyes  were 
starred  full  of  amorous  promises,  and  a  voluptuously 
chaste  smile  parted  her  adorable  lips. 

The  conversation  between  the  living  man  and  the 
shadow  was  prolonged  until  the  first  gleam  of  dawn 
mingled  its  rosy  tints  with  the  violet  beams  of  the 
moon,  the  orb  of  which  was  slowly  paling.  Soon  a 
segment  of  the  sun  appeared  above  the  horizon,  and 
day  came  with  a  splendid  rush.  Spirite,  an  angel  of 
light,  had  nothing  to  dread  from  the  sun,  and  remained 
for  a  few  moments  in  the  bows  of  the  vessel,  radiant 
in  the  rosy  light  and  fires  of  morning  that  played  like 
golden  butterflies  in  her  hair,  lifted  by  the  breeze  of 
the  Archipelago.  If  she  chose  night  by  preference  to 
appear  to  Malivert,  it  was  because,  the  movements 


238 


SPI  RITE 


of  common  human  life  being  then  suspended,  Guy 
was  freer,  less  noticed,  and  did  not  run  the  risk  of 
being  thought  crazy  on  account  of  actions  unavoidably 
eccentric  in  appearance. 

As  she  saw  Malivert  pale  and  shiver  in  the  chill  of 
dawn,  she  said  to  him  in  a  sweetly  scolding  way  :  "  Go, 
you  dear  creature  of  clay,  —  do  not  struggle  against 
nature.  It  is  cold,  the  sea  dew  is  falling  on  the  deck 
and  clinging  to  the  rigging.  Return  to  your  cabin  and 
sleep."  And  then  she  added,  with  a  purely  feminine 
grace :  "  Even  sleep  cannot  separate  us.  I  shall  be 
with  you  in  all  your  dreams,  and  take  you  whither  you 
cannot  go  during  your  waking  hours." 

And  as  she  had  promised,  Guy's  sleep  was  filled 
with  azure,  radiant,  supernatural  dreams,  in  which  he 
flew  side  by  side  with  Spirite  through  an  Elysian 
paradise,  a  mingling  of  light,  of  ideal  vegetation  and 
architecture,  of  which  no  words  in  our  poor,  scanty, 
heavy,  imperfect  speech  can  suggest  even  the  remotest 
idea. 

There  is  no  need  to  describe  in  detail  Malivert's 
impressions  of  travel ;  they  have  naught  to  do  with  this 
story,  and  besides,  Guy,  filled  with  his  love  and  drawn 
by  an  inexorable  desire,  paid  less  attention  than  for- 


239 


S  PI  RITE 

merly  to  material  things.  Nature  now  appeared  to 
him  only  in  a  vague,  misty,  splendid  distance  that 
served  as  a  background  to  his  fixed  thought.  The 
world  was  for  him  only  the  landscape  of  Spirite,  and 
he  thought  even  the  finest  prospects  unworthy  of  this 
function.  Nevertheless,  the  next  day  at  dawn  he  could 
not  repress  a  cry  of  admiration  and  surprise  when,  as 
the  steamer  entered  the  roads  of  the  Piraeus,  he  be- 
held the  marvellous  view  lighted  up  by  the  rays  of 
morn ;  Parnassus  and  Hymettus  formed  with  their 
amethyst-coloured  slopes  the  wings  of  the  splendid 
setting  of  which  Lycabetus,  with  its  curious  outline, 
and  Pentelicus  formed  the  background.  In  the  centre, 
like  a  golden  tripod  upon  a  marble  altar,  rose  on  the 
Acropolis  the  Parthenon,  illumined  by  the  golden  light 
of  morn.  The  bluish  tint  of  the  distance,  showing 
through  the  interstices  of  the  fallen  columns,  made 
the  noble  form  of  the  temple  still  more  aerial  and  ideal. 
Malivert  felt  that  shiver  which  comes  from  the  feeling 
of  beauty,  and  he  understood  then  what,  until  that  mo- 
ment, had  seemed  obscure  to  him  :  the  whole  of  Greek 
art  was  suddenly  revealed  to  him,  a  Romanticist,  in 
that  rapid  vision,  —  that  is,  the  perfect  proportion 
of  the  ensemble,  the  absolute  purity  of  the  lines,  the 


240 


SPI RITE 

incomparable  suavity  of  the  colour  formed  of  white- 
ness, azure,  and  light. 

No  sooner  had  he  landed  than,  without  troubling 
about  his  luggage,  which  he  left  in  Jack's  hands,  he 
jumped  into  one  of  the  coupes  that,  to  the  shame  of 
modern  civilisation,  bear,  in  the  place  of  the  cars 
of  antiquity,  the  travellers  from  the  Piraeus  to  Athens, 
along  a  road  white  with  dust  and  bordered  here  and 
there  by  a  few  dust-covered  olive-trees.  Malivert's 
vehicle,  broken-down  and  rattling,  was  carried  along 
at  a  gallop  by  two  small,  thin,  dapple-gray  horses  with 
hog  manes,  that  looked  like  the  skeletons,  or  rather, 
like  clay  models  of  the  marble  horses  that  prance  on 
the  metopes  of  the  Parthenon.  No  doubt  their  ances- 
tors had  posed  to  Phidias.  They  were  roundly  lashed 
by  a  youth  wearing  a  Palikar  costume,  who,  perhaps, 
driving  a  more  brilliant  team  might  have  carried  off"  the 
prize  for  cars  at  the  Olympic  games. 

Leaving  the  other  travellers  to  invade  the  Hotel 
d'Angleterre,  Guy  had  himself  driven  to  the  foot  of 
the  sacred  hill  on  which  humankind,  in  the  flower  of 
youth,  poetry,  and  love,  heaped  up  its  purest  master- 
pieces, as  if  to  present  them  to  the  admiration  of  the 
gods.    He  ascended  the  old  Street  of  Tripods,  buried 

16  241 


SPI  RITE 

under  shapeless  huts,  and  trod  with  respectful  feet  the 
marble  dust,  coming  at  last  to  that  staircase  of  the 
Propylaea,  some  of  the  steps  of  which  have  been  set 
up  as  tombstones.  He  climbed  through  that  strange 
cemetery  made  of  a  maze  of  uplifted  stones,  between 
the  substructures,  on  one  of  which  stands  the  small 
temple  of  the  Wingless  Victory,  while  the  other  serves 
as  a  pedestal  to  the  equestrian  statue  of  Cimon,  and  as 
a  platform  for  the  Pinacothek,  where  were  preserved 
the  masterpieces  of  Zeuxis,  Apelles,  Timanthes,  and 
Protogenes. 

He  crossed  the  Propylaea  of  Mnesicles,  a  master- 
piece worthy  to  serve  as  an  entrance  to  the  masterpiece 
of  Ictinus  and  Phidias.  He  was  filled  with  the  sentiment 
of  religious  admiration.  He  was  almost  ashamed  that 
he,  a  Western  barbarian,  should  tread  with  his  boots 
that  sacred  soil.  Soon  he  found  himself  before  the 
Parthenon,  the  Temple  of  the  Virgin,  the  sanctuary 
of  Pallas  Athene,  the  noblest  conception  of  Polytheism. 
The  edifice  rose  in  the  serene  blue  air  superbly  placid 
and  suavely  majestic.  Divine  harmony  ruled  its  lines, 
which  sung  the  hymn  of  beauty  on  a  secret  rhythm. 
All  sweetly  tended  to  an  unknown  ideal,  converged  to 
a  mysterious  point,  without  effort,  without  violence, 


242 


SPIRITE 


sure  of  attaining  it.  Above  the  temple  one  felt  soar- 
ing the  thought  to  which  the  angles  of  the  pediments, 
the  entablatures,  the  columns  aspired  and  seemed  to 
wish  to  rise,  imparting  imperceptible  curves  to  the 
horizontal  and  the  perpendicular  lines.  The  exquisite 
Doric  columns,  draped  in  the  folds  of  their  flutings  and 
leaning  somewhat  back,  made  one  think  of  chaste 
virgins  languorously  feeling  vague  desires.  An  atmos- 
phere of  warm,  golden  colour  bathed  the  facade,  and 
the  marble,  kissed  by  time,  had  assumed  a  creamy  tint 
and  something  of  a  modest  blush. 

On  the  steps  of  the  temple,  between  the  two  pillars 
behind  which  opens  the  door  of  the  pronaos,  Spirite 
stood  in  the  pure  Greek  brightness  so  unfavourable  to 
apparitions,  on  the  very  threshold  of  the  clear,  perfect, 
luminously  beautiful  Parthenon.  A  long  white  dress 
pleated  in  little  folds  like  the  tunics  of  the  canephorce, 
fell  from  her  shoulders  to  the  tips  of  her  little  white, 
bare  feet.  A  crown  of  violets  —  of  those  violets  the 
scent  of  which  Aristophanes  celebrates  in  one  of  his 
parabases  —  was  placed  upon  the  wavy  bandeaux  of 
her  golden  hair.  Thus  dressed,  Spirite  resembled  one 
of  the  virgins  of  the  Panathenaeon,  come  down  from 
her  frieze.     But  in  her  blue  eyes  shone  a  light  never 


243 


SPIRITE 

seen  in  eyes  of  white  marble  ;  to  her  radiant,  plastic 
beauty  she  added  the  beauty  of  the  soul. 

Malivert  ascended  the  steps  and  approached  Spirite, 
who  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  Then  in  a  dazzling 
vision  he  beheld  the  Parthenon  as  it  was  in  the  days 
of  its  splendour.  The  fallen  pillars  were  in  their 
places,  the  marbles  of  the  pediment,  carried  away  by 
Lord  Elgin,  or  broken  by  the  Venetian  shells,  were 
grouped  again,  pure  and  intact,  in  their  human  and 
divine  attitudes.  At  the  door  of  the  cella  Malivert 
saw,  seated  upon  its  pedestal,  the  statue  of  gold  and 
ivory,  the  celestial,  the  virgin,  the  immaculate  Pallas 
Athene.  But  he  cast  only  a  rapid  glance  upon  these 
wonders,  and  his  eyes  immediately  turned  to  seek 
Spirite's  eyes.  Seeing  itself  disdained,  the  retrospective 
vision  vanished. 

"  Oh  !  "  murmured  Spirite,  "  art  is  forgotten  for 
love !  His  soul  is  becoming  more  and  more  detached 
from  this  earth.  He  is  burning,  he  is  being  consumed  ! 
Soon,  dear  soul,  your  wish  shall  be  fulfilled." 

And  the  heart  of  the  maid,  still  beating  within  the 
breast  of  the  spirit,  caused  her  white  peplos  to  rise 
and  fall. 


244 


SPI RITE 


XVI 


A FEW  days  after  his  visit  to  the  Parthenon, 
Guy  de  Malivert  resolved  to  visit  the  beauti- 
ful mountains  which  he  saw  from  his  win- 
dows. He  engaged  a  guide  and  a  couple  of  horses, 
leaving  Jack  at  the  hotel,  as  useless  and  likely  even  to 
be  in  the  way.  Jack  was  one  of  those  servants  who 
are  more  difficult  to  satisfy  than  their  masters,  and 
whose  disagreeable  traits  come  out  on  a  voyage.  He 
had  as  many  fads  as  an  old  maid,  and  considered  every- 
thing abominable,  —  the  rooms,  the  beds,  the  dishes, 
the  wines  ;  and  exasperated  by  the  wretched  waiting, 
he  would  cry,  "  Ah,  the  barbarians  !  "  Besides,  if  he 
did  own  that  Malivert  had  some  literary  talent,  he  con- 
sidered him  in  his  own  mind  incapable  of  taking  care 
of  himself,  and  rather  crazy,  especially  for  some  time 
past ;  he  had  therefore  undertaken  to  watch  over  him. 
True,  if  Malivert  frowned,  he  immediately  resumed 
his  old  place,  and  Mentor,  with  a  marvellous  facil- 
ity of  metamorphosis,  resumed  the  part  of  valet. 


245 


SPIRITE 


Guy  put  a  sum  of  money  in  gold  coins  in  a  leather 
belt  which  he  wore  under  his  clothes,  a  couple  of 
pistols  in  his  holsters,  and  when  he  left  did  not  name 
any  definite  day  for  his  return,  desiring  to  allow  him- 
self the  freedom  of  the  unforeseen,  of  adventure,  of 
wandering  as  he  pleased.  He  knew  that  Jack,  accus- 
tomed to  his  disappearances,  would  not  be  alarmed, 
even  if  he  were  several  days,  or  even  several  weeks 
late ;  he  would  be  quite  happy  as  soon  as  he  had 
taught  the  hotel  cook  to  prepare  a  beef-steak  to  his 
taste, —  that  is,  brown  outside  and  underdone  inside, 
in  the  English  fashion. 

Guy's  excursion,  unless  he  changed  his  purpose,  was 
not  to  take  him  beyond  Parnassus,  and  not  to  last 
more  than  five  or  six  days,  but  a  month  had  gone  by 
and  neither  Malivert  nor  his  guide  had  reappeared; 
no  letter  had  reached  the  hotel  announcing  a  change 
of  plans  or  a  prolongation  of  the  trip  ;  the  money  he 
had  taken  with  him  must  have  been  nearly  expended, 
and  his  silence  began  to  cause  uneasiness. 

"My  master  has  not  sent  for  funds,"  said  Jack  to 
himself  one  morning,  as  he  ate  a  beef-steak  cooked  at 
last  as  he  wanted  it,  and  which  he  washed  down  with 
white  wine  of  Santorin,  very  pleasant  in  spite  of  its 


246 


SPI RITE 


slightly  resinous  flavour.  "  It  is  strange,  —  something 
must  have  happened  to  him.  If  he  were  continuing 
his  trip  he  would  have  informed  me  of  the  town  to 
which  I  was  to  send  money,  since  I  have  his  purse.  I 
hope  he  has  not  broken  his  neck  down  some  precipice. 
It  is  an  absurd  idea  of  his  to  go  riding  all  the  time 
through  dirty,  ill-paved  countries,  queer  places  where 
one  starves,  instead  of  remaining  in  Paris,  comfortably 
installed  in  a  pleasant  home  free  from  insects,  mos- 
quitoes, and  other  abominable  creatures  which  blister 
one  all  over.  I  do  not  mind  during  the  fine  season  ; 
I  can  understand  a  man  going  to  Ville-d'Avray,  Celles, 
Saint-Cloud,  Fontainebleau,  —  no,  not  to  Fontaine- 
bleau,  there  are  too  many  painters ;  even  then,  I  pre- 
fer Paris.  People  may  say  what  they  like,  the  country 
is  made  for  peasants,  and  travelling  for  commercial 
travellers,  because  that  is  their  business.  But  it  gets 
to  be  pretty  wearisome  to  be  stuck  in  an  inn  to  grow 
young  again  in  a  city  where  there  is  nothing  but  ruins 
to  look  at.  What  can  our  masters  see  in  old  stones  ? 
As  if  new,  well-kept-up  buildings  were  not  a  hundred 
times  more  pleasant  to  look  at !  There  is  no  mistake 
about  it,  my  master  is  very  impolite  to  me.  It  is  true 
I  am  his  servant,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  attend  him,  but 


247 


SPIRITE 

he  has  no  right  to  make  me  die  of  weariness  in  the 
Hotel  d'Angleterre.  Suppose  some  misfortune  has 
happened  to  that  dear  master  of  mine,  —  after  all,  he 
is  a  kind  master,  —  I  should  never  get  over  it  unless  I 
found  a  better  situation.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  set 
out  to  look  for  him,  —  but  in  what  direction?  Who 
knows  whither  his  fancy  has  taken  him  ?  No  doubt 
into  the  most  extravagant  and  most  improbable  spots, 
into  break-neck  places  which  he  calls  picturesque  and 
of  which  he  makes  sketches  as  if  they  were  worth  look- 
ing at.  Well,  I  will  give  him  three  days  more  to 
return  home;  after  that  time  I  shall  have  him  drummed 
and  posted  at  every  street  corner  like  a  lost  dog,  with 
a  promise  of  a  handsome  reward  to  whoever  brings 
him  back." 

Acting  up  to  his  office  of  sceptical  modern  servant 
who  makes  great  fun  of  the  devoted  and  faithful  old- 
fashioned  valet,  the  worthy  Jack  was  trying  to  blind 
himself  to  his  very  genuine  anxiety.  At  bottom  he 
loved  Guy  de  Malivert  and  was  greatly  attached  to 
him.  Although  he  was  aware  that  his  master  had  put 
him  down  in  his  will  for  a  very  handsome  sum  which 
would  secure  him  a  comfortable  home,  he  did  not  wish 
for  Guy's  death. 


248 


SPI RITE 

The  hotel-keeper  also  began  to  be  anxious,  not 
concerning  Malivert,  whose  bill  was  paid,  but  con- 
cerning the  two  horses  which  he  had  furnished  for  the 
expedition.  As  he  mourned  over  the  problematical 
fate  of  these  two  peerless  animals,  so  sure-footed,  so 
easy  in  their  gait,  so  tender-mouthed,  and  which  could 
be  driven  with  a  silk  thread,  Jack  said  to  him  impa- 
tiently, with  an  air  of  supreme  disdain  :  "  Well,  if 
your  two  hacks  are  dead,  you  will  be  paid  for  them,"  — 
an  assurance  which  restored  the  serenity  of  the  worthy 
Diamantopoulos. 

Every  evening  the  guide's  wife,  a  handsome  and 
robust  matron  who  might  well  have  taken  the  place  of 
the  caryatid  removed  from  the  Pandrasion,  and  for 
which  has  been  substituted  a  terra  cotta  reproduction, 
came  to  inquire  if  Stavros,  her  husband,  had  returned, 
either  with  or  without  the  traveller.  On  hearing  the 
reply,  which  was  invariably  in  the  negative,  she  would 
sit  down  on  a  stone  at  a  little  distance  from  the  hotel, 
undo  the  false  tress  of  fair  hair  which  bound  her  black 
hair,  shake  it  out,  put  her  hands  to  her  face  as  if  she 
were  going  to  scratch  herself,  utter  sighs  like  a  ven- 
triloquist, and  engage  in  all  the  theatrical  demonstra- 
tions of  antique  grief.    At  bottom  ^she  was  really  not 


249 


SPI  RITE 


very  sorry,  for  Stavros  was  not  much  of  a  man,  and  a 
great  deal  of  a  drunkard,  who  beat  her  when  he  was 
tipsy,  and  gave  her  very  little  money,  although  he 
earned  quite  a  sum  by  acting  as  guide  ;  but  she  owed 
it  to  fashion  to  manifest  proper  despair.  Gossip  — 
which  was  not  slander  in  this  case  —  charged  her  with 
being  consoled  in  her  intermittent  widowhood  by  a 
handsome,  wasp-waisted  Palikar  with  a  bell-like  fusta- 
nella  that  held  at  least  sixty  yards  of  fine  pleated  stuff, 
and  a  red  fez  with  a  blue  silk  tassel  falling  down  to 
the  middle  of  his  back.  Her  grief,  genuine  or  affected, 
expressed  in  hoarse  sobs  that  recalled  the  barking  of 
Hecuba,  greatly  bothered  the  worthy  Jack,  who  al- 
though incredulous,  was  somewhat  superstitious.  "  I 
do  not  like,"  he  would  say,  "  that  woman  who  howls 
over  her  absent  husband  like  a  dog  that  scents  death." 
And  the  three  days  which  he  had  set  as  the  extreme 
limit  of  Malivert's  return  having  passed,  he  went  to  a 
magistrate  and  made  his  statement. 

The  most  active  search  was  undertaken  in  the  direc- 
tion probably  followed  by  Malivert  and  his  guide. 
The  mountain  was  traversed  in  every  direction,  and 
in  a  hollow  road  was  found  the  carcass  of  a  horse 
lying  on  its  side  stripped  of  its  harness,  and  already 


250 


4j  4j  4^  4^  4j  4;  4»  4;  4;  4»  ^  4*  ^       £  £  4;  4»  4;  £  4*  4»  4» 

SPIRITE 

half  devoured  by  the  crows.  The  horse's  shoulder 
had  been  broken  by  a  ball,  and  the  steed  had  no  doubt 
fallen  with  its  rider.  Around  the  dead  animal  the 
ground  seemed  to  have  been  trampled  as  if  in  a  strug- 
gle, but  too  many  days  had  elapsed  since  the  probable 
time  of  the  attack,  which  had  no  doubt  taken  place 
several  weeks  before.  There  was  little  to  be  learned 
from  the  vestiges  half-effaced  by  rain  and  wind.  In  a 
lentisk  bush  near  the  road  a  branch  had  been  cut  by  a 
projectile ;  the  upper  part  was  hanging  withered. 
The  ball,  which  was  that  of  a  pistol,  was  found  farther 
off  in  a  field.  The  person  assailed  seemed  to  have 
defended  himself.  What  had  been  the  outcome  of  the 
fight  ?  Probably  fatal,  since  neither  Malivert  nor  his 
guide  had  reappeared.  The  horse  was  recognised  as 
one  of  the  two  hired  by  Diamantopoulos  to  the  young 
French  traveller.  But  for  lack  of  clearer  indications, 
the  inquiry  naturally  came  to  a  stop.  Every  trace  of 
the  aggressors  and  of  the  victim, — or  rather,  victims, 
for  there  must  have  been  two,  —  was  lost.  The  thread 
was  broken  at  the  verv  outset. 

A  detailed  description  of  Malivert  and  Stavros  was 
sent  to  every  possible  place  where  the  direction  of  the 
roads  might  have  taken  them,  but  they  had  not  been 


251 


SPI RITE 


seen  anywhere.  Their  voyage  had  ended  there.  Per- 
haps the  brigands  had  taken  Malivert  to  some  inaces- 
sible  cavern  in  the  mountains  in  the  hope  of  getting  a 
ransom  out  of  him  ;  but  on  examination  this  theory 
proved  absurd.  The  brigands  would  certainly  have 
sent  one  of  their  number  in  disguise  to  the  city  to  find 
means  of  handing  to  Jack  a  letter  stating  the  conditions 
of  the  ransom,  with  a  threat  of  mutilation  in  case  of 
delay,  and  of  death  in  case  of  refusal,  as  is  the  way  in 
that  sort  of  business.  But  nothing  of  the  kind  had 
occurred  ;  no  message  had  come  from  the  mountains 
to  Athens,  and  the  brigands'  post-office  had  not  been 
utilised. 

Jack,  who  was  greatly  worried  at  the  idea  of  return- 
ing to  France  without  his  master,  whom  he  might  be 
supposed  to  have  murdered,  although  he  had  never  left 
the  Hotel  d'Angleterre,  did  not  know  which  way  to 
turn,  and  more  than  ever  cursed  the  mania  for  travel- 
ling which  leads  well-dressed  men  to  gloomy  places, 
where  robbers  in  carnival  costumes  shoot  them  down 
like  hares. 

A  few  days  after  the  search  Stavros  reappeared  at 
the  hotel,  in  a  most  pitiable  condition,  —  wan,  thin, 
worn,  with  a  terrified,  crazed  look,  like  a  spectre  rising 


252 


4>  »4»  r,t,  rl+  tin  rt,         rj^l  rt*  »!<«        »fj  rj«  ri«  »|<  ^%  »4«        »4«  »i» 

SPI RITE 

from  the  tomb  without  having  shaken  off  the  dust  of 
the  grave.  His  rich  and  picturesque  costume,  that  he 
was  so  proud  of  and  which  produced  so  marked  an 
effect  upon  travellers  in  love  with  local  colour,  had 
been  taken  from  him  and  replaced  by  filthy  rags 
covered  with  the  mud  of  the  camping-places.  A 
greasy  sheepskin  was  drawn  over  his  shoulders,  and  no 
one  would  have  recognised  in  him  the  tourists'  favourite 
guide.  His  unexpected  return  was  at  once  reported  to 
the  magistrates,  and  he  was  temporarily  arrested,  for 
though  well  known  in  Athens  and  comparatively 
honest,  he  had  left  with  a  traveller  and  was  returning 
alone,  —  a  circumstance  which  judges  are  not  apt  to 
think  quite  natural.  Nevertheless,  Stavros  succeeded 
in  proving  his  innocence.  His  occupation  of  guide 
naturally  would  not  admit  of  his  destroying  travellers 
by  whom  he  profited  ;  and  besides,  he  did  not  need  to 
murder  them  to  rob  them.  Why  should  he  have 
waited  by  the  edge  of  a  road  for  victims  when  they 
followed  him  on  the  high  road  most  willingly,  and 
shared  a  sufficient  quantity  of  their  gold  with  him  ? 

But  the  story  he  told  of  Malivert's  death  was  most 
strange  and  very  difficult  to  believe  in.  According  to 
him,  while  they  were  peaceably  riding  along  the  hollow 


253 


•4»»|»  «i»  *i*    »4j  »JU  'I*  «4»    d?  ^Ct?  d?  ti?  d?  d?  t?; 

SPI  R  ITE 

way  at  the  place  where  the  carcass  of  the  horse  had 
been  found,  an  explosion  of  firearms  was  heard,  fol- 
lowed almost  immediately  by  another.  The  first  shot 
had  knocked  over  the  horse  ridden  by  M.  de  Malivert, 
and  the  second  had  struck  the  traveller  himself,  who 
by  an  instinctive  movement  had  put  his  hand  to  his 
holster  and  fired  a  pistol-shot  at  random.  Three  or 
four  bandits  had  sprung  over  the  bushes  to  strip  Mali- 
vert, and  two  others  had  made  Stavros  get  off  his 
horse,  although  he  did  not  attempt  resistance,  knowing 
it  to  be  useless. 

So  far  the  account  was  not  very  difFerent  from  the 
usual  highwayman  stories,  but  the  continuation  was 
much  less  credible,  although  the  guide  swore  to  its 
truth.  He  claimed  to  have  seen  by  Malivert,  dying, 
whose  face,  far  from  expressing  anguish  or  agony, 
beamed  on  the  contrary  with  celestial  joy,  a  figure  of 
dazzling  whiteness  and  marvellous  beauty,  which  must 
have  been  the  Panagia,  and  which  placed  upon  the 
traveller's  wound,  as  if  to  still  his  sufferings,  a  hand  of 
light.  The  bandits,  terrified  by  the  apparition,  had 
fled  to  a  distance,  and  then  the  lovely  lady  had  taken 
the  dead  man's  soul  and  flown  away  to  heaven  with  it. 

Every  effort  to  shake  his  account  failed.    The  body 


254 


SPIRITE 


of  the  traveller  had  been  hidden  under  a  rock  on  the 
bank  of  one  of  the  torrents  always  dry  in  summer,  the 
bed  of  which  was  filled  with  rose-laurels.  As  for  him, 
as  he  was  a  poor  devil  not  worth  killing,  he  had  been 
first  stripped  of  his  handsome  clothes,  and  then  taken 
a  long  way  into  the  mountains  to  prevent  his  revealing 
the  murder,  and  had  escaped  only  with  the  greatest 
difficulty.  Stavros  was  set  free,  for  if  he  had  been 
guilty,  it  would  have  been  very  easy  for  him  to  have 
reached  the  islands  or  the  Asiatic  coast  with  Malivert's 
money.  His  return  to  Athens,  therefore,  proved  his 
innocence. 

The  account  of  Malivert's  death  was  sent  to  Mme. 
de  Marillac,  his  sister,  very  much  as  it  had  been  told 
by  Stavros  ;  even  Spirite's  apparition  was  mentioned, 
but  as  an  hallucination  of  the  terrified  guide,  whose 
brain  did  not  seem  sound. 

Just  about  the  time  when  the  murder  was  being 
committed  on  Mount  Parnassus,  Baron  de  Feroe  had 
withdrawn  according  to  custom  into  his  inaccessible 
rooms,  and  was  busy  reading  that  strange  and  myste- 
rious work  of  Swedenborg  entitled,  "  Marriage  in  the 
Other  Life."  While  he  was  reading  he  felt  a  peculiar 
sensation,  as  when  he  was  warned  of  a  revelation. 


255 


kk  k  &  4:  :b  dsr  "k  sb  tb  'k'k'k&'k&'k&tk'kis  & tfctfc 

SPIRITE 


The  thought  of  Malivert  crossed  his  brain,  although 
it  was  not  brought  by  any  natural  transition.  A  light 
showed  in  his  room,  the  walls  of  which  became  trans- 
parent and  opened  like  a  hypaetral  temple,  showing  at 
an  immense  depth,  not  the  sky  beheld  by  human  eyes, 
but  the  heavens  which  are  beheld  by  seers.  In  the 
centre  of  a  glory  of  light  which  seemed  to  issue  from 
the  depths  of  the  infinite,  two  points  of  still  greater 
intensity  of  splendour,  like  diamonds  in  a  flame,  scin- 
tillated, palpitated,  and  drew  near,  assuming  the  appear- 
ance of  Malivert  and  Spirite.  They  floated  side  by 
side  in  a  celestial,  radiant  joy,  caressing  each  other 
with  their  wings  and  toying  with  divine  endearments. 
Soon  they  drew  closer  and  closer,  and  then,  like  two 
drops  of  dew  rolling  on  the  same  lily  leaf,  they  finally 
formed  a  single  pearl. 

"  There  they  are,  happy  forever,  their  united  souls 
forming  an  angel  of  love,"  said  Baron  de  Feroe,  with 
a  melancholy  smile.  "  But  how  long  have  I  still  to 
wait  ?  " 


256 


The  Vampire 


THE  VAMPIRE 

YOU  ask  me,  brother,  if  I  have  ever  loved. 
I  have.  It  is  a  strange  story,  and  though 
I  am  sixty,  I  scarce  venture  to  stir  the 
ashes  of  that  remembrance.  I  mean  to 
refuse  you  nothing,  but  to  no  soul  less  tried  than 
yours  would  I  tell  the  story.  The  events  are  so  strange 
that  I  can  hardly  believe  they  did  happen.  I  was  for 
more  than  three  years  the  plaything  of  a  singular  and 
diabolical  illusion.  I,  a  poor  priest,  I  led  in  my  dreams 
every  night —  God  grant  they  were  dreams  only  !  — 
the  life  of  the  damned,  the  life  of  the  worldly,  the  life 
of  Sardanapalus.  A  single  glance,  too  full  of  approval, 
cast  upon  a  woman,  nearly  cost  me  the  loss  of  my 
soul.  But  at  last,  by  the  help  of  God  and  of  my  holy 
patron,  I  was  able  to  drive  away  the  evil  spirit  which 
had  possessed  me.  My  life  was  complicated  by  an 
entirely  different  nocturnal  life.  During  the  day  I  was 
a  priest  of  God,  chaste,  busied  with  prayers  and  holy 
things;  at  night,  as  soon  as  I  had  closed  my  eyes,  I 
became  a  young  nobleman,  a  connoisseur  of  women, 
of  horses  and  dogs,  gambling,  drinking,  and  cursing, 


259 


&± 4: * ±  *  £  i:  ±  * a**********  £ dbdb 

 THE  VAMPIRE  

and  when  at  dawn  I  awoke,  it  seemed  to  me  rather 
that  I  was  going  to  sleep  and  dreaming  of  being  a 
priest.  Of  that  somnambulistic  life  there  have  re- 
mained in  my  remembrance  things  and  words  I  can- 
not put  away,  and  although  I  have  never  left  the  walls 
of  my  presbytery,  you  will  be  apt  to  think,  on  hearing 
me,  that  I  am  a  man  who,  having  worn  out  everything 
and  having  given  up  the  world  and  entered  religion, 
means  to  end  in  the  bosom  of  God  days  too  greatly 
agitated,  rather  than  a  humble  student  in  a  seminary, 
who  has  grown  old  in  a  forgotten  parish  in  the  depths 
of  a  forest,  and  who  has  never  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  things  of  the  day. 

Yes,  I  have  loved,  as  no  one  on  earth  ever  loved, 
with  an  insensate  and  furious  love,  so  violent  that  I 
wonder  it  did  not  break  my  heart.  Ah  !  what  nights  ! 
what  nights  I  have  had  ! 

From  my  youngest  childhood  I  felt  the  vocation  to 
the  priesthood  and  all  my  studies  were  therefore  bent 
in  that  direction.  My  life  until  the  age  of  twenty-four 
was  nothing  but  one  long  novitiate.  Having  finished 
my  theological  studies,  I  passed  successfully  through 
the  minor  orders,  and  my  superiors  considered  me 
worthy,  in  spite  of  my  youth,  of  crossing  the  last  dread 


260 


THE  VAMPIRE 


limit.  The  day  of  my  ordination  was  fixed  for  Easter 
week. 

I  had  never  gone  into  the  world.  The  world,  to 
me,  lay  within  the  walls  of  the  college  and  of  the 
seminary.  I  knew  vaguely  that  there  was  something 
called  a  woman,  but  my  thoughts  never  dwelt  upon  it ; 
I  was  utterly  innocent.  I  saw  my  old,  infirm  mother 
but  twice  a  year;  she  was  the  only  connection  I  had 
with  the  outer  world.  I  regretted  nothing  ;  I  felt  not 
the  least  hesitation  in  the  presence  of  the  irrevocable 
engagement  I  was  about  to  enter  into ;  nay,  I  was  joy- 
ous and  full  of  impatience.  Never  did  a  young  bride- 
groom count  the  hours  with  more  feverish  ardour.  I 
could  not  sleep ;  I  dreamed  that  I  was  saying  Mass ; 
I  saw  nothing  more  glorious  in  the  world  than  to  be  a 
priest.  I  would  have  refused,  had  I  been  offered  a 
kingdom,  to  be  a  king  or  a  poet  instead,  for  my  ambi- 
tion conceived  nothing  finer. 

What  I  am  telling  you  is  to  show  you  that  what 
happened  to  me  ought  not  to  have  happened,  and  that 
I  was  the  victim  of  the  most  inexplicable  fascination. 

The  great  day  having  come,  I  walked  to  the  church 
with  so  light  a  step  that  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was 
borne  in  the  air,  or  that  I  had  wings  on  my  shoulders ; 


THE  VAMPIRE 


I  thought  myself  an  angel,  and  I  was  amazed  at  the 
sombre  and  preoccupied  expression  of  my  companions, 
—  for  there  were  several  of  us.  I  had  spent  the  night 
in  prayer,  and  was  in  a  state  bordering  on  ecstasy. 
The  bishop,  a  venerable  old  man,  seemed  to  me  like 
God  the  Father  bending  from  eternity,  and  I  beheld  the 
heavens  through  the  vault  of  the  dome. 

You  are  acquainted  with  the  details  of  the  cere- 
mony :  the  benediction,  the  Communion  in  both  kinds, 
the  anointing  of  the  palms  of  the  hands  with  the  oil 
of  the  catechumens,  and  finally  the  sacred  sacrifice 
offered  in  conjunction  with  the  bishop.  I  will  not 
dwell  on  these  things.  Oh  !  how  right  was  Job,  "  Im- 
prudent is  he  who  has  not  made  a  covenant  with  his 
eyes  "  !  I  happened  to  raise  my  head,  which  until  then 
I  had  kept  bent  down,  and  I  saw  before  me,  so  close 
that  I  might  have  touched  her,  although  in  reality 
she  was  a  long  way  off,  on  the  other  side  of  the  railing, 
a  young  woman  of  wondrous  beauty  dressed  with  regal 
magnificence.  It  was  as  though  scales  had  fallen  from 
my  eyes.  I  felt  like  a  blind  man  suddenly  recovering 
his  sight.  The  bishop,  so  radiant  but  now,  was  sud- 
denly dimmed,  the  flame  of  the  tapers  on  their  golden 
candlesticks  turned  pale  like  stars  in  the  morning  light, 
262 


THE  VAMPIRE 


and  the  whole  church  was  shrouded  in  deep  obscurity. 
The  lovely  creature  stood  out  against  this  shadow  like 
an  angelic  revelation.  She  seemed  illumined  from 
within,  and  to  give  forth  light  rather  than  to  receive  it. 
I  cast  down  my  eyes,  determined  not  to  look  up  again, 
so  as  to  avoid  the  influence  of  external  objects,  for  I 
was  becoming  more  and  more  inattentive  and  I  scarcely 
knew  what  I  was  about.  Yet  a  moment  later  I  opened 
my  eyes  again,  for  through  my  eyelids  I  saw  her  daz- 
zling with  the  prismatic  colours  in  a  radiant  penumbra, 
just  as  when  one  has  gazed  upon  the  sun. 

Oh,  how  beautiful  she  was !  The  greatest  painters 
had  never  approached  this  fabulous  reality,  even 
when,  pursuing  ideal  beauty  in  the  heavens,  they 
brought  back  to  earth  the  divine  portrait  of  the  Ma- 
donna. Neither  the  verse  of  the  poet  nor  the  palette 
of  the  painter  can  give  you  an  idea  of  her.  She  was 
rather  tall,  with  the  figure  and  the  port  of  a  goddess. 
Her  hair,  of  a  pale  gold,  was  parted  on  her  brow  and 
flowed  down  her  temples  like  two  golden  streams ;  she 
looked  like  a  crowned  queen.  Her  forehead,  of  a 
bluish  whiteness,  spread  out  broad  and  serene  over  the 
almost  brown  eyebrows,  a  singularity  which  added  to 
the  effect  of  the  sea-green  eyes,  the  brilliancy  and  fire 


263 


THE  VAMPIRE 


of  which  were  unbearable.  Oh,  what  eyes !  With 
one  flash  they  settled  a  man's  fate.  They  were  filled 
with  a  life,  a  limpidity,  an  ardour,  a  moist  glow, 
which  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other  human  eyes. 
From  them  flashed  glances  like  arrows,  which  I  dis- 
tinctly saw  striking  my  heart.  I  know  not  whether 
the  flame  that  illumined  them  came  from  heaven  or 
hell,  but  undoubtedly  it  came  from  one  or  the  other 
place.  That  woman  was  an  angel  or  a  demon,  per- 
haps both.  She  certainly  did  not  come  from  the 
womb  of  Eve,  our  common  mother.  Teeth  of  the 
loveliest  pearl  sparkled  through  her  rosy  smile,  and 
little  dimples  marked  each  inflection  of  her  mouth  in 
the  rosy  satin  of  her  adorable  cheeks.  As  to  her  nose, 
it  was  of  regal  delicacy  and  pride,  and  betrayed  the 
noblest  origin.  An  agate  polish  played  upon  the 
smooth,  lustrous  skin  of  her  half-uncovered  shoulders, 
and  strings  of  great  fair  pearls,  almost  similar  in  tone 
to  her  neck,  fell  upon  her  bosom.  From  time  to  time 
she  drew  up  her  head  with  the  undulating  movement 
of  an  adder  or  of  a  peacock,  and  made  the  tall  em- 
broidered ruff  that  surrounded  her  like  a  silver  trellis 
tremble  slightly.  She  wore  a  dress  of  orange-red  vel- 
vet, and  out  of  the  broad,  ermine-lined  sleeves  issued 


264 


J^tMm  *t*  «JU         »!-.  tiy%  JU  rl-»  »1»  »A»  »!■»  *A»  yl*  »^        e4»  r£i  rlj  »Ai  Jl»  fl*  «§**j* 

 THE  VAMPIRE  

wondrously  delicate  patrician  hands,  with  long,  plump 
fingers,  so  ideally  transparent  that  the  light  passed 
through  them  as  through  the  fingers  of  Dawn. 

All  these  details  are  still  as  vivid  to  me  as  if  I  had 
seen  her  but  yesterday,  and  although  I  was  a  prey  to 
the  greatest  agitation,  nothing  escaped  me;  the  faintest 
tint,  the  smallest  dark  spot  on  the  corner  of  the  chin, 
the  scarcely  perceptible  down  at  the  corners  of  the  lips, 
the  velvety  brow,  the  trembling  shadow  of  the  eyelashes 
on  her  cheeks, — I  noted  all  with  astonishing  lucidity. 

As  I  gazed  at  her,  I  felt  open  within  me  doors 
hitherto  fast-closed;  passages  obstructed  until  now  were 
cleared  away  in  every  direction  and  revealed  unsus- 
pected prospects  ;  life  appeared  in  a  new  guise  ;  I  had 
just  been  born  into  a  new  order  of  ideas.  Frightful 
anguish  clutched  my  heart,  and  every  minute  that 
passed  seemed  to  me  a  second  and  an  age.  Yet  the 
ceremony  was  proceeding,  and  I  was  being  carried 
farther  from  the  world,  the  entrance  to  which  was 
fiercely  besieged  by  my  nascent  desires.  I  said  "  yes," 
however,  when  I  meant  to  say  "no,"  when  everything 
in  me  was  revolting  and  protesting  against  the  vio- 
lence my  vow  was  doing  to  my  will.  An  occult  force 
dragged  the  words  from  my  mouth  in  spite  of  myself. 


265 


THE  VAMPIRE 

It  is  perhaps  just  what  so  many  young  girls  do  when 
they  go  to  the  altar  with  a  firm  resolve  to  boldly 
refuse  the  husband  forced  upon  them.  Not  one  car- 
ries out  her  intention.  It  is  no  doubt  the  same  thing 
which  makes  so  many  poor  novices  take  the  veil,  al- 
though they  are  quite  determined  to  tear  it  to  pieces 
at  the  moment  of  speaking  their  vows.  No  one  dares 
to  cause  such  a  scandal  before  everybody,  nor  to  de- 
ceive the  expectations  of  so  many  present.  The  nu- 
merous wills,  the  numerous  glances,  seem  to  weigh 
down  on  one  like  a  leaden  cloak.  And  then,  every 
precaution  is  so  carefully  taken,  everything  is  so  well 
settled  beforehand  in  a  fashion  so  evidently  irrevocable 
that  thought  yields  to  the  weight  of  fact  and  completely 
gives  way. 

The  expression  of  the  fair  unknown  changed  as  the 
ceremony  progressed.  Her  glance,  tender  and  caress- 
ing at  first,  became  disdainful  and  dissatisfied  as  if  to 
reproach  me  with  dulness  of  perception.  I  made  an 
effort,  mighty  enough  to  have  overthrown  a  mountain, 
to  cry  out  that  I  would  not  be  a  priest,  but  I  could  not 
manage  it;  my  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth 
and  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  express  my  will  by  the 
smallest  negative  sign.    I  was,  although  wide-awake, 


266 


4*  4»  4»  4j  4;  4«  4*4;  ^^4*^4»4«4»4»4»4»4»4»4»  dbd&db 

THE  VAMPIRE  

in  a  state  similar  to  that  of  nightmare,  when  one  seeks 
to  call  out  a  word  on  which  one's  life  depends,  and  yet 
is  unable  to  do  so. 

She  seemed  to  understand  the  martyrdom  I  was  suf- 
fering, and  as  if  to  encourage  me,  she  cast  upon  me  a 
look  full  of  divine  promise.  Her  eyes  were  a  poem, 
her  every  glance  was  a  canto;  she  was  saying  to  me  : 

"  If  you  will  come  with  me,  I  will  make  you  more 
happy  than  God  Himself  in  Paradise.  The  angels  will 
be  jealous  of  you.  Tear  away  the  funeral  shroud  in 
which  you  are  about  to  wrap  yourself.  I  am  beauty 
and  youth  and  love ;  come  to  me,  and  together  we 
shall  be  Love.  What  can  Jehovah  offer  you  in  com- 
pensation ?  Our  life  shall  pass  like  a  dream,  and  will 
be  but  one  eternal  kiss.  Pour  out  the  wine  in  that 
cup  and  you  are  free.  We  will  go  away  to  un- 
known isles  and  you  shall  sleep  on  my  bosom  on  a 
bed  of  massive  gold  under  a  pavilion  of  silver.  For  I 
love  you  and  mean  to  take  you  from  your  God,  before 
whom  so  many  youthful  hearts  pour  out  floods  of  love 
that  never  reach  Him." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  heard  these  words  on  a 
rhythm  of  infinite  sweetness,  for  her  glance  was  almost 
sonorous,  and  the  phrases  her  eyes  sent  me  sounded 


267 


Ju   .1-.  ri.   ri*  >a*  rfr«      ttr^fc  jbsfetife  dbsbdbsbtfe^l?  fllr  sirsfe 

THE  VAMPIRE 

within  my  heart  as  if  invisible  lips  had  breathed  them. 
I  felt  myself  ready  to  renounce  God,  but  my  hand  was 
mechanically  accomplishing  the  formalities  of  the  cere- 
mony. The  beauty  cast  upon  me  a  second  glance  so 
beseeching,  so  despairing  that  sharp  blades  pierced  my 
heart,  and  I  felt  more  swords  enter  my  breast  than  did 
the  Mother  of  Sorrows. 

Never  did  any  human  face  exhibit  more  poignant 
anguish.  The  maiden  who  sees  her  betrothed  fall 
suddenly  dead  by  her  side,  the  mother  by  the  empty 
cradle  of  her  child,  Eve  seated  on  the  threshold  of  the 
gate  of  Paradise,  the  miser  who  finds  a  stone  in  place 
of  his  treasure,  the  poet  who  has  accidentally  dropped, 
into  the  fire  the  only  manuscript  of  his  favourite  work, 
—  not  one  of  them  could  look  more  inconsolable,  more 
stricken  to  the  heart.  The  blood  left  her  lovely  face 
and  she  turned  pale  as  marble.  Her  beautiful  arms 
hung  limp  by  her  body  as  if  the  muscles  had  been  un- 
knotted, and  she  leaned  against  a  pillar,  for  her  limbs 
were  giving  way  under  her.  As  for  me,  livid,  my 
brow  covered  with  a  sweat  more  bloody  than  that  of 
Calvary,  I  staggered  towards  the  church  door.  I  was 
stifling ;  the  vaulting  seemed  to  press  down  on  me  and 
my  hand  to  upbear  alone  the  weight  of  the  cupola. 


268 


&  &  4;  4. 4.  4,  &  £  4:4.4.^4.4. 4.4. 4.4;^  4;  4.4. 

THE  VAMPIRE 


As  I  was  about  to  cross  the  threshold,  a  woman's 
hand  suddenly  touched  mine.  I  had  never  touched 
one  before.  It  was  cold  like  the  skin  of  a  serpent, 
yet  it  burned  me  like  the  print  of  a  red-hot  iron. 
It  was  she.  "  Oh,  unfortunate  man  !  unfortunate 
man !  What  have  you  done  ?  "  she  whispered ;  then 
disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

The  old  bishop  passed  by.  He  looked  severely  at 
me.  My  appearance  was  startlingly  strange.  I  turned 
pale,  blushed  red,  and  flames  passed  before  my  eyes. 
One  of  my  comrades  took  pity  on  me  and  led  me 
away ;  I  was  incapable  of  finding  alone  the  road  to 
the  seminary.  At  the  corner  of  a  street,  while  the 
young  priest  happened  to  look  in  another  direction,  a 
quaintly  dressed  negro  page  approached  me  and  without 
staying  his  steps  handed  me  a  small  pocket-book  with 
chased  gold  corners,  signing  to  me  to  conceal  it.  I 
slipped  it  into  my  sleeve  and  kept  it  there  until  I  was 
alone  in  my  cell.  I  opened  it.  It  contained  but  two 
leaves  with  these  words :  "  Clarimonda,  at  the  Palazzo 
Concini."  I  was  then  so  ignorant  of  life  that  I  did 
not  know  of  Clarimonda,  in  spite  of  her  fame,  and  I 
was  absolutely  ignorant  where  the  Palazzo  Concini 
was  situated.    I  made  innumerable  conjectures  of  the 


269 


THE  VAMPIRE 


most  extravagant  kind,  but  the  truth  is  that,  provided  I 
could  see  her  again,  I  cared  little  what  she  might  be, 
whether  a  great  lady  or  a  courtesan. 

This  new-born  love  of  mine  was  hopelessly  rooted 
within  me.  I  did  not  even  attempt  to  expel  it  from 
my  heart,  for  I  felt  that  that  was  an  impossibility. 
The  woman  had  wholly  seized  upon  me ;  a  single 
glance  of  hers  had  been  sufficient  to  change  me  ;  she 
had  breathed  her  soul  into  me,  and  I  no  longer  lived 
but  in  her  and  through  her.  I  indulged  in  countless 
extravagant  fancies ;  I  kissed  on  my  hand  the  spot 
she  had  touched,  and  I  repeated  her  name  for  hours  at 
a  time.  All  I  needed  to  do  to  see  her  as  plainly  as  if 
•  she  had  been  actually  present  was  to  close  my  eyes  ;  I 
repeated  the  words  which  she  had  spoken  to  me, 
"  Unfortunate  man  !  unfortunate  man  !  what  have  you 
done  ?  "  I  grasped  the  full  horror  of  my  situation, 
and  the  dread,  sombre  aspects  of  the  state  which  I 
had  embraced  were  plainly  revealed  to  me.  To  be  a 
priest;  that  is,  to  remain  chaste,  never  to  love,  never 
to  notice  sex  or  age  ;  to  turn  aside  from  beauty,  to 
voluntarily  blind  myself,  to  crawl  in  the  icy  shadows 
of  a  cloister  or  a  church,  to  see  none  but  the  dying,  to 
watch  by  strangers'  beds,  to  wear  mourning  for  myself" 


270 


*jU  rtt  c(L»  rJ/»  r-t-»  «1*         •1"         »4»  4?»?tti?  J*?t*?ts?  s|*  tfc  SB?  «£• 

THE  VAMPIRE 

in  the  form  of  the  black  cassock,  a  robe  that  may  readily 
be  used  to  line  your  coffin. 

Meanwhile  I  felt  life  rising  within  me  like  an  inter- 
nal lake,  swelling  and  overflowing  ;  my  blood  surged 
in  my  veins ;  my  youth,  so  long  suppressed,  burst  out 
suddenly  like  the  aloe  that  blooms  but  once  in  a 
hundred  years,  and  then  like  a  thunder-clap.  How 
could  I  manage  to  see  Clarimonda  again  ?  I  could  find 
no  pretext  to  leave  the  seminary,  for  I  knew  no 
one  in  town.  Indeed,  my  stay  in  it  was  to  be  very 
short,  for  I  was  merely  waiting  to  be  appointed  to  a 
parish.  I  tried  to  loosen  the  bars  of  the  window,  but 
it  was  at  a  terrific  height  from  the  ground,  and  hav- 
ing no  ladder,  I  had  to  give  up  that  plan.  Besides, 
I  could  go  out  at  night  only,  and  how  should  I  ever 
find  my  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  streets  ?  All 
these  difficulties,  which  would  have  been  slight  to  other 
men,  were  tremendous  for  me,  a  poor  seminarist,  in 
love  since  yesterday,  without  experience,  without  money, 
and  without  clothes. 

"  Ah,  if  only  I  had  not  been  a  priest,  I  might  have 
seen  her  every  day  ;  I  might  have  been  her  lover,  her 
husband,"  I  said  to  myself  in  my  blindness.  Instead  of 
being  wrapped  in  my  gloomy  shroud,  I  should  have 


271 


THE  VAMPIRE 


worn  silk  and  velvet,  chains  of  gold,  a  sword  and  a 
plume,  like  handsome  young  cavaliers.  My  hair, 
instead  of  being  dishonoured  by  a  broad  tonsure,  would 
have  fallen  in  ringlets  around  my  neck  ;  I  should  have 
worn  a  handsome  waxed  moustache  ;  I  should  have 
been  a  valiant  man.  A  single  hour  spent  before  an 
altar,  a  few  words  scarcely  breathed,  had  cut  me  off 
forever  from  the  living  ;  I  had  myself  sealed  the  stone 
of  my  tomb ;  I  had  pushed  with  my  own  hand  the 
bolts  of  my  prison  door. 

I  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  heavens  were 
wondrously  blue,  the  trees  had  assumed  their  spring- 
time livery,  nature  exhibited  ironical  joy.  The  square 
was  full  of  people  coming  and  going.  Young  dandies 
and  young  beauties  in  couples  were  going  towards  the 
gardens  and  the  arbours  ;  workmen  passed  by,  singing 
drinking  songs  ;  there  was  an  animation,  a  life,  a  rush, 
a  gaiety,  which  contrasted  all  the  more  painfully  with 
my  mourning  and  my  solitude.  A  young  mother 
was  playing  with  her  child  on  the  threshold  of  a 
door.  She  kissed  its  little  rosy  lips  still  pearly  with 
drops  of  milk,  and  indulged,  as  she  teased  it,  in 
those  many  divine  puerilities  which  mothers  alone 
can  invent.    The  father,  who  stood  a  little  way  off, 


272 


THE  VAMPIRE 


was  smiling  gently  at  the  charming  group,  and  his 
crossed  arms  pressed  his  joy  to  his  heart.  I  could  not 
bear  the  sight.  I  closed  the  window  and  threw  myself 
on  my  bed,  my  heart  rilled  with  frightful  hatred  and 
jealousy,  and  I  bit  my  fingers  and  my  coverlet  as  if  I 
had  been  a  tiger  starving  for  three  days. 

I  know  not  how  long  I  remained  in  this  condition, 
but  in  turning  over  in  a  furious  spasm,  I  perceived 
Father  Serapion  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
gazing  attentively  at  me.  I  was  ashamed  of  myself, 
and  letting  fall  my  head  upon  my  breast,  I  covered  my 
face  with  my  hands. 

"  Romualdo,  my  friend,  something  extraordinary  is 
taking  place  in  you,"  said  Serapion  after  a  few 
moments'  silence.  "  Your  conduct  is  absolutely  inex- 
plicable. You,  so  pious,  so  calm,  and  so  gentle,  you 
have  been  raging  in  your  cell  like  a  wild  beast.  Be- 
ware, my  brother,  and  do  not  listen  to  the  suggestions 
of  the  devil.  The  evil  spirit,  angered  at  your  having 
devoted  yourself  to  the  Lord,  prowls  around  you  like  a 
ravening  wolf,  and  is  making  a  last  effort  to  draw  you  to 
himself.  Instead  of  allowing  yourself  to  be  cast  down, 
dear  Romualdo,  put  on  the  breastplate  of  prayer,  take 
up  the  shield  of  mortification,  and  valiantly  fight  the 

ig  273 


:t"  -J;  d;  ±  i:  el*  -i:  i*  ±  £  ±  ±±£±  ±  £  £  &  £  ±-  &  ± 

THE  VAMPIRE 


enemy.  You  will  overcome  him.  Trial  is  indispen- 
sable to  virtue,  and  gold  emerges  finer  from  the  crucible. 
Be  not  dismayed  nor  discouraged  ;  the  best  guarded  and 
the  strongest  souls  have  passed  through  just  such 
moments.  Pray,  fast,  meditate,  and  the  evil  one  will 
flee  from  you." 

The  father's  discourse  brought  me  back  to  myself, 
and  I  became  somewhat  calmer.  "  I  was  coming," 
he  said,  "  to  inform  you  that  you  are  appointed  to  the 

parish  of  C  .    The  priest  who  occupied  it  has  just 

died,  and  his  lordship  the  Bishop  has  charged  me  to 
install  you  there.     Be  ready  to-morrow." 

I  signed  that  I  would  be  ready,  and  the  father 
withdrew. 

I  opened  my  breviary  and  began  to  read  my  prayers, 
but  the  lines  soon  became  confused  ;  I  lost  the  thread 
of  my  thoughts,  and  the  book  slipped  from  my  hands 
without  my  noticing  it. 

To  leave  to-morrow  without  having  seen  her  again  ! 
To  add  one  more  impossibility  to  all  those  that  already 
existed  between  us  !  To  lose  forever  the  hope  of 
meeting  her  unless  a  miracle  occurred  !  Even  if  I 
were  to  write  to  her,  how  could  I  send  my  letter  ? 
Considering  the  sacred  functions  which  I  had  assumed, 


274 


JU  «JU        rJU         »4»         "Jj?  ^         ^*       jfj?  t^?  jf?  t~*        ^7?  *~*  tr?  Tr? 

THE  VAMPIRE 

to  whom  could  I  confide,  in  whom  could  I  trust  ?  1 
felt  terrible  anxiety.  Then  what  Father  Serapion  had 
just  said  to  me  of  the  wiles  of  the  devil  recurred  to  my 
memory.  The  strangeness  of  the  adventure,  the 
supernatural  beauty  of  Clarimonda,  the  phosphorescent 
gleam  of  her  glance,  the  burning  touch  of  her  hand, 
the  trouble  into  which  she  had  thrown  me,  the  sudden 
change  which  had  occurred  in  me,  my  piety  vanished 
in  an  instant,  —  everything  went  to  prove  plainly  the 
presence  of  the  devil,  and  that  satin-like  hand  could 
only  be  the  glove  that  covered  his  claws.  These 
thoughts  caused  me  much  terror.  I  picked  up  the 
breviary  that  had  fallen  to  the  ground  from  my  knees, 
and  I  again  began  to  pray. 

The  next  day  Serapion  came  for  me.  Two  mules 
were  waiting  for  us  at  the  door,  carrying  our  small 
valises.  He  got  on  one  and  I  on  the  other  as  well  as 
I  could.  While  traversing  the  streets  of  the  town,  I 
looked  at  every  window  and  every  balcony  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  Clarimonda,  but  it  was  too  early ;  and 
the  town  was  not  yet  awake.  My  glance  tried  to 
pierce  through  the  blinds  and  curtains  of  all  the  palaces 
in  front  of  which  we  were  passing.  No  doubt  Sera- 
pion thought  my  curiosity  was  due  to  the  admiration 

275 


THE  VAMPIRE 


caused  in  me  by  the  beauty  of  the  architecture,  for  he 
slackened  his  mule's  speed  to  give  me  time  to  look. 
Finally  we  reached  the  city  gate  and  began  to  ascend 
the  hill.  When  we  reached  the  top,  I  turned  around 
once  again  to  gaze  at  the  spot  where  lived  Clarimonda. 
The  shadow  of  a  cloud  covered  the  whole  town  ;  the 
blue  and  red  roofs  were  harmonized  in  one  uniform 
half-tint,  over  which  showed,  like  flecks  of  foam,  the 
morning  smoke.  By  a  singular  optical  effect  there 
stood  out  bright  under  a  single  beam  of  light  a  building 
that  rose  far  above  the  neighbouring  houses,  wholly 
lost  in  the  mist.  Although  it  was  certainly  three  miles 
away,  it  seemed  quite  close  ;  the  smallest  detail  could 
be  made  out,  —  the  turrets,  the  platforms,  the  windows, 
even  the  swallow-tailed  vanes. 

"  What  is  that  palace  yonder  lighted  by  a  sun- 
beam ? "  I  asked  Serapion. 

He  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  after  having 
looked,  answered  :  "  That  is  the  old  palazzo  which 
Prince  Concini  gave  to  Clarimonda  the  courtesan. 
Fearful  things  take  place  there." 

At  that  moment,  —  I  have  never  known  whether  it 
was  a  reality  or  an  illusion,  —  I  thought  I  saw  on  the 
terrace  a  slender  white  form  that  gleamed  for  a  second 

276 


THE  VAMPIRE 


and  vanished.  It  was  Clarimonda.  Oh  !  did  she 
know  that  at  that  very  moment,  from  the  top  of  the 
rough  road  which  was  talcing  me  away  from  her, 
ardent  and  restless,  I  was  watching  the  palace  she 
dwelt  in,  and  which  a  derisive  effect  of  light  seemed 
to  draw  near  to  me  as  if  to  invite  me  to  enter  it  as 
its  master?  No  doubt  she  knew  it,  for  her  soul  was 
too  much  in  sympathy  with  mine  not  to  have  felt  its 
every  emotion,  and  it  was  that  feeling  which  had  urged 
her,  still  wearing  her  night-dress,  to  ascend  to  the 
terrace  in  the  icy-cold  dew  of  morning. 

The  shadow  reached  the  palace,  and  all  turned  into 
a  motionless  ocean  of  roofs  and  attics  in  which  noth- 
ing was  to  be  distinguished  save  swelling  undulations. 
Serapion  urged  on  his  mule  ;  mine  immediately  started 
too,  and  a  turn  in  the  road  concealed  forever  from  me 

the  town  of  S  ,  for  I  was  never  to  return  there. 

After  three  days'  travelling  through  a  monotonous 
country,  we  saw  rising  above  the  trees  the  weather- 
cock of  the  steeple  of  the  church  to  which  I  had  been 
appointed ;  and  after  having  traversed  some  tortuous 
streets  bordered  by  huts  and  small  gardens,  we  arrived 
before  the  facade,  which  was  not  very  magnificent. 
A  porch  adorned  with  a  few  mouldings  and  two  or 


277 


cJ-»  rl*  <-l »  «■       r* -r  »(U  «J/»  »!-»  d»  rV»  »A»  »ij  »      r-'-  «4*  »4»  »|»  *£* 

THE  VAMPIRE 

three  sandstone  pillars  roughly  cut,  a  tiled  roof,  and 
buttresses  of  the  same  sandstone  as  the  pillars,  —  that 
was  all.  On  the  left,  the  cemetery  overgrown  with 
grass,  with  a  tall  iron  cross  in  the  centre  ;  to  the  right, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  church,  the  presbytery,  a  very 
plain,  poor,  but  clean  house.  We  entered.  A  few 
hens  were  picking  up  scattered  grain.  Accustomed, 
apparently,  to  the  black  dress  of  ecclesiastics,  they  were 
not  frightened  by  our  presence,  and  scarcely  moved 
out  of  the  way.  A  hoarse  bark  was  heard,  and  an  old 
dog  ran  up  to  us ;  it  was  my  predecessor's  dog.  Its 
eye  was  dim,  its  coat  was  gray,  and  it  exhibited  every 
symptom  of  the  greatest  age  a  dog  can  reach.  I  patted 
it  gently  with  my  hand,  and  it  immediately  walked  be- 
side me  with  an  air  of  inexpressible  satisfaction.  An 
old  woman,  who  had  been  housekeeper  to  the  former 
priest,  also  came  to  meet  us,  and  after  having  shown 
us  into  the  lower  room,  asked  me  if  I  intended  to  keep 
her.  I  told  her  that  I  should  do  so,  and  the  dog 
and  the  hens  also,  and  whatever  furniture  her  master 
had  left  her  at  his  death,  which  caused  her  a  transport 
of  joy,  Father  Serapion  having  at  once  paid  her  the 
price  she  had  set  upon  it. 

Having  thus  installed  me,  Father  Serapion  returned 


278 


•kifk  is  "k  •k  is  is  is k  kkkkkkkkkkk  db  4rdb 

THE  VAMPIRE 

to  the  seminary.  I  therefore  remained  alone  and  with- 
out any  other  help  than  my  own.  The  thought  of 
Clarimonda  again  began  to  haunt  me,  and  in  spite  of 
the  efforts  I  made  to  drive  it  away,  I  was  not  always 
successful.  One  evening  as  I  was  walking  through 
the  box-edged  walks  of  my  little  garden,  I  thought  I 
saw  through  the  shrubbery  a  female  form  watching  my 
movements,  and  two  sea-green  eyes  flashing  amid  the 
foliage,  but  it  was  merely  an  illusion.  Having  passed 
on  the  other  side  of  the  walk,  I  found  only  the  imprint 
of  a  foot  on  the  sand,  so  small  that  it  looked  like  a 
child's  foot.  The  garden  was  shut  in  by  very  high 
walls.  I  visited  every  nook  and  corner  of  it,  but  found 
no  one.  I  have  never  been  able  to  explain  the  fact, 
which,  for  the  matter  of  that,  was  nothing  by  compar- 
ison with  the  strange  things  that  were  to  happen  to 
me. 

I  had  been  living  in  this  way  for  a  year,  carefullv 
fulfilling  all  the  duties  of  my  profession,  praying,  fast- 
ing, exhorting,  and  succouring  the  sick,  giving  alms 
even  to  the  extent  of  depriving  myself  of  the  most  in- 
dispensable necessaries ;  but  I  felt  within  me  extreme 
aridity,  and  the  sources  of  grace  were  closed  to  me. 
I  did  not  enjoy  the  happiness  which  comes  of  fulfilling 


279 


THE  VAMPIRE 


a  holy  mission ;  my  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  and 
Clarimonda's  words  often  recurred  to  me.  O  my 
brother,  ponder  this  carefully.  Because  I  had  a  single 
time  looked  at  a  woman,  because  I  had  committed 
a  fault  apparently  so  slight,  I  suffered  for  several  years 
the  most  dreadful  agitation  and  my  life  was  troubled 
forever. 

I  shall  not  dwell  longer  upon  these  inward  defeats 
and  victories  which  were  always  followed  by  greater 
falls,  but  I  shall  pass  at  once  to  a  decisive  circum- 
stance. One  night  there  was  a  violent  ringing  at  my 
door.  The  housekeeper  went  to  open  it,  and  a  dark- 
complexioned  man,  richly  dressed  in  a  foreign  fashion, 
wearing  a  long  dagger,  showed  under  the  rays  of  Bar- 
bara's lantern.  Her  first  movement  was  one  of  terror, 
but  the  man  reassured  her,  and  told  her  that  he  must 
see  me  at  once  on  a  matter  concerning  my  ministry. 
Barbara  brought  him  upstairs.  I  was  just  about  to 
go  to  bed.  The  man  told  me  that  his  mistress,  a  very 
great  lady,  was  dying  and  asking  for  a  priest.  I  replied 
that  I  was  ready  to  follow  him,  took  what  was  needed 
for  extreme  unction,  and  descended  quickly.  At  the 
door  were  impatiently  pawing  and  stamping  two  horses 
black  as  night,  breathing  out   long  jets  of  smoke. 


280 


THE  VAMPIRE 


He  held  the  stirrup  for  me  and  helped  me  to  mount 
one,  then  sprang  on  the  other,  merely  resting  his  hand 
upon  the  pommel  of  the  saddle.  He  pressed  in  his 
knees  and  gave  his  horse  its  head,  when  it  went 
off  like  an  arrow.  My  own,  of  which  he  held  the 
bridle,  also  started  at  a  gallop  and  kept  up  easily  with 
the  other.  We  rushed  over  the  ground,  which  flashed 
by  us  gray  and  streaked,  and  the  black  silhouettes  of 
the  trees  fled  like  the  rout  of  an  army.  We  traversed 
a  forest,  the  darkness  of  which  was  so  dense  and  icy 
that  I  felt  a  shudder  of  superstitious  terror.  The 
sparks  which  our  horses'  hoofs  struck  from  the  stones 
formed  a  trail  of  fire,  and  if  any  one  had  seen  us  at 
that  time  of  night,  he  would  have  taken  us  for  two 
spectres  bestriding  nightmares.  From  time  to  time 
will-o'-the-wisps  flashed  across  the  road,  and  the  jack- 
daws croaked  sadly  in  the  thickness  of  the  wood,  in 
which  shone  here  and  there  the  phosphorescent  eyes 
of  wildcats.  Our  horses'  manes  streamed  out  wildly, 
sweat  poured  down  their  sides,  and  their  breath  came 
short  and  quick  through  their  nostrils ;  but  when  the 
equerry  saw  them  slackening  speed,  he  excited  them 
by  a  guttural  cry  which  had  nothing  of  human  in 
it,  and  the  race  began  again  madder  than  ever.  At 


281 


THE  VAMPIRE 


last  our  whirlwind  stopped.  A  black  mass  dotted 
with  brilliant  points  suddenly  rose  before  us.  The 
steps  of  our  steeds  sounded  louder  upon  the  iron- 
bound  flooring,  and  we  entered  under  an  archway  the 
sombre  mouth  of  which  yawned  between  two  huge 
towers.  Great  excitement  reigned  in  the  chateau. 
Servants  with  torches  in  their  hands  were  traversing 
the  courts  in  every  direction,  and  lights  were  ascending 
and  descending  from  story  to  story.  I  caught  a  con- 
fused glimpse  of  vast  architecture,  —  columns,  arcades, 
steps,  stairs,  a  perfectly  regal  and  fairy-like  splendour 
of  construction.  A  negro  page,  the  same  who  had 
handed  me  Clarimonda's  tablets,  and  whom  I  at  once 
recognised,  helped  me  to  descend,  and  a  majordomo, 
dressed  in  black  velvet,  with  a  gold  chain  around  his 
neck  and  an  ivory  cane,  advanced  towards  me.  Great 
tears  fell  from  his  eyes  and  flowed  down  his  cheeks 
upon  his  white  beard.  M  Too  late.4'  he  said,  shaking 
his  head.  "  Too  late,  my  lord  priest.  But  if  you 
have  not  been  able  to  save  the  soul,  come  and  pray  for 
the  poor  body."  He  took  me  by  the  arm  and  led  me 
to  the  room  of  death.  I  wept  as  bitterly  as  he  did,  for 
I  had  understood  that  the  dead  woman  was  none  else 
than   Clarimonda,  whom  I  had  loved  so  deeply  and 


282 


» t~     rl%  »1»  »{-.  rJ/i  rl»  »1*  «L> ^f.  Tt?  Tt?  Tr?  Tt?  tr?     *j?  TaTtr???? 

THE  VAMPIRE 

madly.  A  prie-dieu  was  placed  by  the  bedside ;  a 
bluish  flame  rising  from  a  bronze  cup  cast  through  the 
room  a  faint,  vague  light,  and  here  and  there  brought 
out  of  the  shadow  the  corner  of  a  piece  of  furniture  or 
of  a  cornice.  On  a  table,  in  a  chased  urn,  was  a 
faded  white  rose,  the  petals  of  which,  with  a  single 
exception,  had  all  fallen  at  the  foot  of  the  vase  like 
perfumed  tears.  A  broken  black  mask,  a  fan,  and  dis- 
guises of  all  kinds  lay  about  on  the  armchairs,  showing 
that  death  had  entered  this  sumptuous  dwelling  unex- 
pectedly and  without  warning.  I  knelt,  not  daring  to 
cast  my  eyes  on  the  bed,  and  began  to  recite  the 
psalms  with  great  fervour,  thanking  God  for  having 
put  the  tomb  between  the  thought  of  that  woman  and 
myself,  so  that  I  might  add  to  my  prayers  her  name, 
henceforth  sanctified.  Little  by  little,  however,  my 
fervour  diminished,  and  I  fell  into  a  reverie.  The 
room  had  in  no  wise  the  aspect  of  a  chamber  of  death. 
Instead  of  the  fetid  and  cadaverous  air  which  I  was 
accustomed  to  breathe  during  my  funeral  watches,  a 
languorous  vapour  of  Oriental  incense,  a  strange,  am- 
orous odour  of  woman,  floated  softly  in  the  warm  air. 
The  pale  light  resembled  less  the  yellow  flame  of  the 
night-light  that  flickers  by  the  side  of  the  dead  than 

^3 


THE  VAMPIRE 


the  soft  illumination  of  voluptuousness.  I  thought  of 
the  strange  chance  which  made  me  meet  Clarimonda 
at  the  very  moment  when  I  had  lost  her  forever,  and  a 
sigh  of  regret  escaped  from  my  breast.  I  thought  I 
heard  some  one  sigh  behind  hie,  and  I  turned  involun- 
tarily. It  was  the  echo.  As  I  turned,  my  eyes  fell 
upon  the  state-bed  which  until  then  I  had  avoided 
looking  at.  The  red  damask  curtains  with  great 
flowered  pattern,  held  back  by  golden  cords,  allowed 
the  dead  woman  to  be  seen,  lying  full  length,  her 
hands  crossed  on  her  breast.  She  was  covered  with  a 
linen  veil  of  dazzling  whiteness,  made  still  more  bril- 
liant by  the  dark  purple  of  the  hangings  ;  it  was  so 
tenuous  that  it  concealed  nothing  of  the  charming 
form  of  her  body,  and  allowed  me  to  note  the  lovely 
lines,  undulating  like  the  neck  of  a  swan,  which  even 
death  itself  had  been  unable  to  stiffen.  She  looked 
like  an  alabaster  statue,  the  work  of  some  clever 
sculptor,  intended  to  be  placed  on  a  queen's  tomb,  or 
a  young  sleeping  girl  on  whom  snow  had  fallen. 

I  was  losing  my  self-mastery.  The  sensuous  air 
intoxicated  me,  the  feverish  scent  of  the  half-faded 
rose  went  to  my  brain,  and  I  strode  up  and  down  the 
room,  stopping  every  time  before  the  dais  to  gaze  at 


284 


THE  VAMPIRE 


the  lovely  dead  woman  through  her  transparent  shroud. 
Strange  thoughts  came  into  my  mind ;  I  imagined  that 
she  was  not  really  dead,  that  this  was  but  a  feint  she 
had  employed  to  draw  me  to  her  chateau  and  to  tell 
me  of  her  love.  Once  indeed  I  thought  I  saw  her 
foot  move  under  the  white  veil,  disarranging  the 
straight  folds  of  the  shroud. 

Then  I  said  to  myself,  "  But  is  it  Clarimonda  ? 
How  do  I  know  ?  The  black  page  may  have  passed 
into  some  other  woman's  service.  I  am  mad  to  grieve 
and  worry  as  I  am  doing."  But  my  heart  replied,  as 
it  beat  loud,  "  It  is  she,  —  it  is  none  but  she."  I  drew 
nearer  the  bed  and  gazed  with  increased  attention  at 
the  object  of  my  uncertainty.  Shall  I  confess  it  ? 
The  perfection  of  her  form,  though  refined  and  sancti- 
fied by  the  shadow  of  death,  troubled  me  more  volup- 
tuously than  was  right,  and  her  repose  was  so  like 
sleep  that  any  one  might  have  been  deceived  by  it.  I 
forgot  that  I  had  come  there  to  perform  the  funeral 
offices,  and  I  imagined  that  I  was  a  young  husband 
entering  the  room  of  his  bride  who  hides  her  face 
through  modesty  and  will  not  allow  herself  to  be  seen. 
Sunk  in  grief,  mad  with  joy,  shivering  with  fear  and 
pleasure,  I  bent  towards  her  and  took  up  the  corner 


285 


THE  VAMPIRE 


of  the  shroud  ;  I  raised  it  slowly,  holding  in  my  breath 
for  fear  of  waking  her.  My  arteries  palpitated  with 
such  force  that  I  felt  the  blood  surging  in  my  temples 
and  my  brow  was  covered  with  sweat  as  if  I  had  been 
lifting  a  marble  slab.  It  was  indeed  Clarimonda,  such 
as  I  had  seen  her  in  the  church  on  the  day  of  my 
ordination.  She  was  as  lovely  as  then,  and  death 
seemed  to  be  but  a  new  coquetry  of  hers.  The  pallor 
of  her  cheeks,  the  paler  rose  of  her  lips,  the  long  closed 
eyelashes  showing  their  brown  fringes  against  the 
whiteness,  gave  her  an  inexpressibly  seductive  expres- 
sion of  melancholy  chastity  and  of  pensive  suffering. 
Her  long  hair,  undone,  in  which  were  still  a  few  little 
blue  flowers,  formed  a  pillow  for  her  head  and  pro- 
tected with  its  curls  the  nudity  of  her  shoulders.  Her 
lovely  hands,  purer  and  more  diaphanous  than  the 
Host,  were  crossed  in  an  attitude  of  pious  repose  and 
of  silent  prayer  that  softened  the  too  great  seduction, 
even  in  death,  of  the  exquisite  roundness  and  the  ivory 
polish  of  her  bare  arms  from  which  the  pearl  bracelets 
had  not  been  removed.  I  remained  long  absorbed  in 
mute  contemplation.  The  longer  I  looked  at  her,  the 
less  I  could  believe  that  life  had  forever  forsaken  that 
lovely  frame.    I  know  not  whether  it  was  an  illusion 


286 


&&&&& &&£±£:4:4:£&£&&±&ib£&£:£ 

THE  VAMPIRE 


or  a  reflection  of  the  lamp,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  blood  was  beginning  to  course  again  under  the  mat 
pallor  ;  yet  she  still  remained  perfectly  motionless.  I 
gently  touched  her  arm  ;  it  was  cold,  yet  no  colder 
than  her  hand  on  the  day  it  touched  me  under  the 
porch  of  the  church.  I  resumed  my  position,  bending 
my  face  over  hers,  and  let  fall  upon  her  cheeks  the 
warm  dew  of  my  tears.  Oh,  what  a  bitter  despair  and 
powerlessness  I  felt  !  Oh,  what  agony  I  underwent 
during  that  watch  !  I  wished  I  could  take  my  whole 
life  in  order  to  give  it  to  her,  and  breathe  upon  her  icy 
remains  the  flame  that  devoured  me.  Night  was 
passing,  and  feeling  the  moment  of  eternal  separation 
approaching,  I  was  unable  to  refuse  myself  the  sad  and 
supreme  sweetness  of  putting  one  kiss  upon  the  dead 
lips  of  her  who  had  had  all  my  love.  But,  oh,  won- 
der !  a  faint  breath  mingled  with  mine,  and  Clari- 
monda's  lips  answered  to  the  pressure  of  mine.  Her 
eyes  opened,  became  somewhat  brighter,  she  sighed, 
and  moving  her  arms,  placed  them  around  my  neck 
with  an  air  of  ineffable  delight.  "  Oh,  it  is  you, 
Romualdo  !  "  she  said  in  a  voice  as  languishing  and  soft 
as  the  last  faint  vibrations  of  a  harp.  "  I  waited  for 
you  so  long  that  I  am  dead.     But  now  we  are  be- 


287 


^tick  4:  i:  4:  &  i:  £:  £ dbtbdbsfr&db&tlr  A  sbtlr 
THE  VAMPIRE 


trothed ;  I  shall  be  able  to  see  you  and  to  come  to  you. 
Farewell,  Romualdo,  farewell !  I  love  you  ;  that  is 
all  I  wish  to  say  to  you,  and  I  give  you  back  the  life 
which  you  have  recalled  to  me  for  one  moment  with 
your  kiss.    Good-bye,  but  not  for  long." 

Her  head  fell  back,  but  her  arms  were  still  around 
me  as  if  to  hold  me.  A  wild  gust  of  wind  burst  in 
the  window  and  rushed  into  the  room  ;  the  last  leaf  of 
the  white  rose  fluttered  for  a  moment  like  a  wing  at  the 
top  of  the  stem,  then  broke  away  and  flew  out  of  the 
casement,  bearing  Clarimonda's  soul.  The  lamp  went 
out  and  I  swooned  away  on  the  bosom  of  the  lovely 
dead. 

When  I  recovered  my  senses,  I  was  lying  on  my 
bed  in  my  little  room  in  my  house,  and  the  old  dog  of 
the  former  priest  was  licking  my  hand  that  was  hang- 
ing out  from  under  the  blanket.  Barbara,  shaky 
with  old  age,  was  busy  opening  and  closing  drawers 
and  mixing  powders  in  glasses.  On  seeing  me  open 
my  eyes,  the  old  woman  uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  while 
the  dog  yelped  and  wagged  his  tail ;  but  I  was  so  weak 
that  I  could  neither  move  nor  speak.  I  learned  later 
that  I  had  remained  for  three  days  in  that  condition, 
giving  no  other  sign  of  life  than  faint  breathing.  These 


288 


THE  VAMPIRE 


three  days  are  cut  out  of  my  life.  I  do  not  know  where 
my  mind  was  during  that  time,  having  absolutely  no 
remembrance  of  it.  Barbara  told  me  that  the  same 
copper-complexioned  man  who  had  come  to  fetch  me 
during  the  night,  had  brought  me  back  the  next  morn- 
ing in  a  closed  litter  and  had  immediately  departed.  As 
soon  as  I  could  collect  my  thoughts,  I  went  over  in  my 
own  mind  all  the  circumstances  of  that  fatal  night.  At 
first  I  thought  I  had  been  the  dupe  of  some  magical 
illusion,  but  real  and  palpable  circumstances  soon 
shattered  that  supposition.  I  could  not  believe  I  had 
been  dreaming,  since  Barbara  had  seen,  just  as  I 
had,  the  man  with  two  black  horses,  and  described 
his  dress  and  appearance  accurately.  Yet  no  one 
knew  of  any  chateau  in  the  neighbourhood  answering 
to  the  description  of  that  in  which  I  had  again  met 
Clarimonda. 

One  morning  I  saw  Father  Serapion  enter.  Barbara 
had  sent  him  word  that  I  was  ill,  and  he  had  hastened 
to  come  to  me.  Although  this  eagerness  proved  affec- 
tion for  and  interest  in  me,  his  visit  did  not  give  me 
the  pleasure  I  should  have  felt.  The  penetration  and 
the  inquisitiveness  of  his  glance  troubled  me;  I  felt 
embarrassed  and  guilty  in  his  presence.    He  had  been 


9 


289 


THE  VAMPIRE 


the  first  to  notice  my  inward  trouble,  and  I  was  an- 
noyed by  his  clear-sightedness.  While  asking  news  of 
my  health  in  a  hypocritically  honeyed  tone  he  fixed 
upon  me  his  two  yellow,  lion-like  eyes,  and  plunged 
his  glance  into  my  soul  like  a  sounding-rod.  Then 
he  asked  me  a  few  questions  as  to  the  way  in  which  I 
was  working  my  parish,  if  I  enjoyed  my  position,  how 
I  spent  the  time  which  my  duties  left  me,  if  I  had 
made  any  acquaintances  among  the  inhabitants  of  the 
place,  what  was  my  favourite  reading,  and  many  other 
details  of  the  same  kind.  I  answered  as  briefly  as  pos- 
sible, and  he  himself,  without  waiting  for  me  to  finish, 
passed  on  to  something  else.  The  conversation  evi- 
dently had  nothing  to  do  with  what  he  meant  to  say  to 
me.  Then,  without  any  preparation,  as  if  it  were  a 
piece  of  news  which  he  had  just  recollected  and  which 
he  was  afraid  to  again  forget,  he  said,  in  a  clear,  vibrant 
voice  that  sounded  in  my  ear  like  the  trump  of  the 
Last  Judgment :  — 

"  The  great  courtesan  Clarimonda  died  recently, 
after  an  orgy  that  lasted  eight  days  and  nights.  It  was 
infernally  splendid.  They  renewed  the  abominations 
of  the  feasts  of  Belshazzar  and  Cleopatra.  What 
an  age  we  are  living  in  !    The  guests  were  served 


290 


»!■»  rtt  JU  ri/%  rX«  «1*  .i^  «Ji  rl»         ^»  t^?  t|j  Is?  ts?  tl?  tfc  tfc  tl?  Is?  tl?  tr? 

THE  VAMPIRE 

by  dark  slaves  speaking  an  unknown  language,  who, 
I  think,  must  have  been  fiends;  the  livery  of  the 
meanest  of  them  might  have  served  for  the  gala 
dress  of  an  emperor.  There  have  always  been  very 
strange  stories  about  this  Clarimonda ;  all  her  lovers 
have  died  a  wretched  and  violent  death.  It  is  said  that 
she  was  a  ghoul,  a  female  vampire,  but  I  am  of  opinion 
that  she  was  Beelzebub  in  person." 

He  was  silent  and  watched  me  more  attentively 
than  ever  to  see  the  effect  his  words  produced  upon 
me.  I  had  been  unable  to  repress  a  start  on  hearing 
the  name  of  Clarimonda,  and  the  news  of  her  death, 
besides  the  grief  it  caused  me,  through  the  strange 
coincidence  with  the  nocturnal  scene  of  which  I  had 
been  a  witness,  filled  me  with  a  trouble  and  terror  that 
showed  in  my  face  in  spite  of  the  efforts  I  made  to 
master  myself.  Serapion  looked  at  me  anxiously  and 
severely  ;  then  he  said  :  "  My  son,  I  am  bound  to 
warn  you  that  you  have  one  foot  over  the  abyss.  Be- 
ware lest  you  fall  in.  Satan  has  a  long  arm,  and  tombs 
are  not  always  faithful.  The  stone  over  Clarimonda 
should  be  sealed  with  a  triple  seal,  for  it  is  not,  I  am 
told,  the  first  time  that  she  has  died.  May  God  watch 
over  you,  Romualdo  !  " 


291 


'J:  'k'Jh'Jh'k'k  is  'k  d:    £  "i*   db  sb  d:  ib  £  d: 
 THE  VAMPIRE 

With  these  words  he  walked  slowly  towards  the 
door,  and  I  did  not  see  him  again,  for  he  left  for 
S   almost  immediately. 

I  had  at  last  entirely  recovered,  and  had  resumed 
my  usual  duties.  The  remembrance  of  Clarimonda 
and  the  words  of  the  old  priest  were  ever  present  to 
my  mind;  yet  no  extraordinary  event  had  confirmed 
Serapion's  gloomy  predictions.  I  therefore  began  to 
believe  that  his  fears  and  my  terrors  were  exaggerated  ; 
but  one  night  I  dreamed  a  dream.  I  had  scarcely 
fallen  asleep  when  I  heard  the  curtains  of  my  bed 
open  and  the  rings  sliding  over  the  bars  with  a  rattling 
sound.  I  sat  up  abruptly,  leaning  on  my  elbow,  and 
saw  the  shadow  of  a  woman  standing  before  me.  I 
at  once  recognised  Clarimonda.  In  her  hand  she  bore 
a  small  lamp,  of  the  shape  of  those  put  into  tombs, 
the  light  of  which  gave  to  her  slender  fingers  a  rosy 
transparency  that  melted  by  insensible  gradations  into 
the  opaque  milky  whiteness  of  her  bare  arm.  Her 
sole  vestment  was  the  linen  shroud  that  had  covered 
her  upon  her  state  bed,  and  the  folds  of  which  she 
drew  over  her  bosom  as  if  she  were  ashamed  of  being 
so  little  clothed,  but  her  small  hand  could  not  manage 
it.     It  was  so  white  that  the  colour  of  the  drapery  was 


292 


•J/>  rlt        r£/»  «A»         «J/»  «J*  «|*         •i*^J^|j  t^J^J^J  tl?  t{«  »7- 

THE  VAMPIRE 

confounded  with  that  of  the  flesh  under  the  pale  light 
of  the  lamp.  Enveloped  in  the  delicate  tissue  which 
revealed  all  the  contours  of  her  body,  she  resembled  an 
antique  marble  statue  of  a  bather  rather  than  a  woman 
filled  with  life.  Dead  or  living,  statue  or  woman, 
shadow  or  body,  her  beauty  was  still  the  same ;  only 
the  green  gleam  of  her  eyes  was  somewhat  dulled,  and 
her  mouth,  so  purple  of  yore,  had  now  only  a  pale, 
tender  rose-tint  almost  like  that  of  her  cheeks.  The 
little  blue  flowers  which  I  had  noticed  in  her  hair 
were  dried  up  and  had  lost  most  of  their  leaves.  And 
yet  she  was  charming,  so  charming  that  in  spite  of  the 
strangeness  of  the  adventure  and  the  inexplicable  man- 
ner in  which  she  had  entered  the  room,  I  did  not  ex- 
perience a  single  thrill  of  terror. 

She  placed  the  lamp  on  the  table  and  sat  down  on 
the  foot  of  my  bed.  Then  bending  towards  me,  she 
said  in  the  silvery,  velvety  voice  which  I  had  heard 
from  no  one  but  her  :  — 

"  I  have  made  you  wait  a  long  time,  dear  Romualdo, 
and  you  must  have  thought  I  had  forgotten  you.  But 
I  have  come  from  a  very  long  distance,  from  a  bourne 
whence  no  traveller  has  yet  returned.  There  is  neither 
moon  nor  sun  in  the  country  whence  I  have  come  ; 


293 


THE  VAMPIRE 


neither  road  nor  path  ;  naught  but  space  and  shadow  ; 
no  ground  for  the  foot,  no  air  for  the  wing ;  and  yet  I 
am  here,  for  love  is  stronger  than  death  and  overcomes 
it.  Ah,  what  worn  faces,  what  terrible  things  I  have 
seen  on  my  way !  What  difficulty  my  soul,  which  re- 
turned to  this  world  by  the  power  of  will,  experienced 
before  it  could  find  its  own  body  and  re-enter  it ! 
What  efforts  I  had  to  make  before  I  could  push  up 
the  tombstone  with  which  they  had  covered  me  ! 
See !  the  palms  of  my  poor  hands  are  all  bruised.  Kiss 
them  and  cure  them,  my  dear  love."  And  one  after 
the  other,  she  put  the  cold  palms  of  her  hands  upon 
my  lips.  I  did  kiss  them  many  a  time,  and  she 
watched  me  with  a  smile  of  ineffable  satisfaction. 

I  confess  it  to  my  shame,  —  I  had  wholly  forgotten 
the  counsels  of  Father  Serapion  and  my  own  profes- 
sion ;  I  had  fallen  without  resisting  and  at  the  first 
blow  ;  I  had  not  even  endeavoured  to  drive  away  the 
tempter.  The  freshness  of  Clarimonda's  skin  pene- 
trated mine,  and  I  felt  voluptuous  thrills  running 
through  my  body.  Poor  child  !  In  spite  of  all  that  I 
have  seen  of  her,  I  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that  she 
was  a  demon  ;  she  certainly  did  not  look  like  one,  and 
never  did  Satan  better  conceal  his  claws  and  horns. 


294 


•£%«4*  »i»         »4»  »lj  ^ij  ^JjJ  t|»  tl»  tS? it?  tfets?  Tt?  if?ff? 

THE  VAMPIRE 

She  had  pulled  her  feet  up  under  her,  and  was  curled 
up  on  the  edge  of  my  bed  in  an  attitude  full  of 
nonchalant  coquetry.  From  time  to  time  she  passed 
her  little  hand  through  my  hair  and  rolled  it  into  ringlets 
as  if  to  try  how  different  ways  of  dressing  it  would 
suit  my  face.  I  allowed  her  to  go  on  with  the  most 
guilty  complaisance,  and  while  she  toyed  with  me  she 
chatted  brightly.  The  remarkable  thing  is  that  I 
experienced  no  astonishment  at  so  extraordinary  an 
adventure,  and  with  the  facility  we  enjoy  in  dreams  of 
admitting  as  quite  simple  the  most  amazing  events,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  everything  that  was  happening  was 
quite  natural. 

"  I  loved  you  long  before  I  had  seen  you,  dear 
Romualdo,  and  I  had  looked  for  you  everywhere. 
You  were  my  dream,  and  when  I  saw  you  in  church 
at  that  fatal  moment,  I  at  once  said,  1  It  is  he  ! '  I 
cast  on  you  a  glance  in  which  I  put  all  the  love  which 
I  had  had,  which  I  had,  and  which  I  was  to  have 
for  you  ;  a  glance  that  would  have  damned  a  cardinal 
and  made  a  king  kneel  before  my  feet  in  the  presence 
of  his  whole  court.  But  you  remained  impassible ; 
you  preferred  your  God  to  me.  Oh,  I  am  jealous  of 
God,  whom  you  loved,  and  whom  you  still  love  more 


295 


&  ±  i:  &  i:  ±  d?  i:  i:  &  i:  £  &  :S?  tir   tS?  dr  d?  tfc  *  sir  &  sfc 

THE  VAMPIRE 


than  me!  Unfortunate  that  I  am,  —  oh,  most  un- 
fortunate !  Your  heart  will  never  be  wholly  mine, 
though  you  brought  me  back  to  life  with  a  kiss,  though 
I  am  Clarimonda,  who  was  dead  and  who  for  your 
sake  burst  the  cerements  of  the  tomb,  and  has  come  to 
devote  to  you  a  life  which  she  has  resumed  only  to 
make  you  happy  !  " 

With  these  words  she  mingled  intoxicating  caresses 
which  penetrated  my  senses  and  my  reason  to  such  a 
degree  that  I  did  not  hesitate,  in  order  to  console  her, 
to  utter  frightful  blasphemies  and  to  tell  her  that  I 
loved  her  as  much  as  I  did  God. 

Her  eyes  brightened  and  shone  like  chrysoprase. 
"True?  Quite  true?  as  much  as  God?"  she  said, 
clasping  me  in  her  lovely  arms.  "  Since  that  is  so, 
you  will  go  with  me,  you  will  follow  me  where  I  will. 
You  shall  cast  off  your  ugly  black  clothes,  you  shall 
be  the  proudest  and  most  envied  of  men,  you  shall  be 
my  lover.  Oh,  the  lovely,  happy  life  we  shall  lead  ! 
When  shall  we  start  ?  " 

"To-morrow  !  to-morrow  !"  I  cried  in  my  delirium. 

"  To-morrow  be  it,"  she  replied.  "  I  shall  have 
time  to  change  my  dress,  for  this  one  is  rather  scanty 
and  not  of  much  use  for  travelling.    Then  I  must 


296 


THE  VAMPIRE 


also  warn  my  people,  who  think  me  really  dead,  and 
who  are  mourning  as  hard  as  they  can.  Money, 
clothes,  and  carriage, —  everything  shall  be  ready,  and 
I  shall  call  for  you  at  this  same  hour.  Good-bye,  dear 
heart,"  and  she  touched  my  brow  with  her  lips. 

The  lamp  went  out,  the  windows  were  closed,  and  I 
saw  no  more.  A  leaden,  dreamless  sleep,  overcame  me 
and  held  me  fast  until  the  next  morning.  I  awoke 
later  than  usual,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  strange 
vision  agitated  me  the  livelong  day.  At  last  I  managed 
to  persuade  myself  that  it  was  a  mere  fever  of  my 
heated  brain.  Yet  the  sensation  had  been  so  intense 
that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  it  was  not  real,  and  it 
was  not  without  some  apprehension  of  what  might 
happen  that  I  went  to  bed,  after  having  prayed  God 
to  drive  away  from  me  evil  thoughts  and  to  protect 
the  chastity  of  my  sleep. 

I  soon  fell  fast  asleep  and  my  dream  continued. 
The  curtains  were  opened,  and  I  saw  Clarimonda, 
not  as  the  first  time,  wan  in  her  pale  shroud,  and  the 
violets  of  death  upon  her  cheeks,  but  gay,  bright,  and 
dainty,  in  a  splendid  travelling-dress  of  green  velvet 
with  gold  braid,  caught  up  on  the  side  and  showing  a 
satin  under-skirt.    Her  fair  hair  escaped  in  great  curls 

297 


THE  VAMPIRE 

from  below  her  broad  black  felt  hat  with  capriciously 
twisted  white  feathers.  She  held  in  her  hand  a  small 
riding-whip  ending  in  a  golden  whistle.  She  touched 
me  lightly  with  it  and  said :  "  Well,  handsome  sleeper, 
is  that  the  way  you  get  ready  ?  I  expected  to  find  you 
up.  Rise  quickly,  we  have  no  time  to  lose." 
I  sprang  from  my  bed. 

"  Come,  put  on  your  clothes  and  let  us  go,"  she 
said,  pointing  to  a  small  parcel  which  she  had  brought. 
"  The  horses  are  impatiently  champing  their  bits  at  the 
door.    We  ought  to  be  thirty  miles  away  by  now." 

I  dressed  hastily,  and  she  herself  passed  me  the 
clothes,  laughing  at  my  awkwardness  and  telling  me 
what  they  were  when  I  made  a  mistake.  She  arranged 
my  hair  for  me,  and  when  it  was  done,  she  held  out  a 
small  pocket-mirror  of  Venice  crystal  framed  with  sil- 
ver filigree  and  said  to  me,  "  What  do  you  think  of 
yourself?     Will  you  take  me  as  your  valet?" 

I  was  no  longer  the  same  man  and  did  not  recognise 
myself.  I  was  no  more  like  myself  than  a  finished 
statue  is  like  a  block  of  stone.  My  former  face 
seemed  to  me  but  a  coarse  sketch  of  the  one  reflected 
in  the  mirror.  I  was  handsome,  and  my  vanity  was 
sensibly  tickled  by  the  metamorphosis.    The  elegant 


298 


THE  VAMPIRE 


clothes,  the  rich  embroidered  jacket,  made  me  quite  a 
different  person,  and  I  admired  the  power  of  trans- 
formation possessed  by  a  few  yards  of  stuff  cut  in  a 
certain  way.  The  spirit  of  my  costume  entered  into 
me,  and  in  ten  minutes  I  was  passably  conceited.  I 
walked  up  and  down  the  room  a  few  times  to  feel 
more  at  my  ease  in  my  new  garments.  Clarimonda 
looked  at  me  with  an  air  of  maternal  complaisance  and 
appeared  well  satisfied  with  her  work. 

"Now,  that  is  childishness  enough.  Let  us  be  off, 
dear  Romualdo ;  we  are  going  a  long  way  and  we  shall 
never  get  there."  As  she  touched  the  doors  they 
opened,  and  we  passed  by  the  dog  without  waking  it. 

At  the  door  we  found  Margheritone,  the  equerry 
who  had  already  conducted  me.  He  held  three  horses, 
black  like  the  first,  one  for  me,  one  for  himself,  and  one 
for  Clarimonda.  The  horses  must  have  been  Spanish 
jennets,  sired  by  the  gale,  for  they  went  as  fast  as  the 
wind,  and  the  moon,  which  had  risen  to  light  us  at  our 
departure,  rolled  in  the  heavens  like  a  wheel  detached 
from  its  car.  We  saw  it  on  our  right  spring  from  tree 
to  tree,  breathlessly  trying  to  keep  up  with  us.  We 
soon  reached  a  plain  where  by  a  clump  of  trees  waited 
a  carriage  drawn  by  four  horses.    We  got  into  it  and 

299 


THE  VAMPIRE 


the  horses  started  off  at  a  mad  gallop.  I  had  one  arm 
around  Clarimonda's  waist  and  one  of  her  hands  in 
mine;  she  leaned  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  and  I  felt 
her  half-bare  bosom  against  my  arm.  I  had  never 
enjoyed  such  lively  happiness.  I  forgot  everything 
at  that  moment.  I  no  more  remembered  having 
been  a  priest,  so  great  was  the  fascination  which  the 
evil  spirit  exercised  over  me.  From  that  night  my 
nature  became  in  some  sort  double.  There  were  in 
me  two  men  unknown  to  each  other.  Sometimes 
I  fancied  myself  a  priest  who  dreamed  every  night 
he  was  a  nobleman ;  sometimes  I  fancied  I  was 
a  nobleman  who  dreamed  he  was  a  priest.  I  was 
unable  to  distinguish  between  the  vision  and  the 
waking,  and  I  knew  not  where  reality  began  and 
illusion  ended.  The  conceited  libertine  rallied  the 
priest ;  the  priest  hated  the  excesses  of  the  young 
nobleman.  Two  spirals,  twisted  one  within  the  other 
and  confounded  without  ever  touching,  very  aptly 
represent  this  bicephalous  life  of  mine.  Yet,  in  spite 
of  the  strangeness  of  this  position,  I  do  not  think  that 
for  one  instant  I  was  mad.  I  always  preserved  verv 
clearly  the  perception  of  my  double  life.  Onlv  there 
was  an  absurd  fact  which  I  could  not  explain  :  it  was 


300 


•1*  tk%        »1»  «A»  rii  «4«  »|r»  *i<  »Ae  sjU  *^  ti?  t=b  Tt?  tf?  ct? 

THE  VAMPIRE 


that  the  feeling  of  the  same  self  should  exist  in  two 
men  so  utterly  different.  That  was  an  anomaly  which 
I  did  not  understand,  whether  I  believed  myself  to  be 

the  parish  priest  of  the  little  village  of  or  il  Signor 

Romualdo,  the  declared  lover  of  Clarimonda. 

What  is  certain  is  that  I  was,  or  at  least  believed 
that  I  was,  in  Venice.  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to 
make  out  what  was  true  and  what  was  imaginary  in 
that  strange  adventure.  We  dwelt  in  a  great  marble 
palace  on  the  Canaleio,  full  of  frescoes  and  statues, 
with  two  paintings  in  Titian's  best  manner  in  Clari- 
monda's  bedroom.  It  was  a  palace  worthy  of  a  king. 
Each  of  us  had  his  own  gondola  and  gondoliers,  his 
own  livery,  music-room,  and  poet.  Clarimonda  liked 
to  live  in  great  style,  and  she  had  something  of  Cleo- 
patra in  her  nature.  As  for  me,  I  lived  like  a  prince's 
son,  and  acted  as  if  I  belonged  to  the  family  of  the  twelve 
Apostles  or  the  four  Evangelists  of  the  Most  Serene 
Republic  ;  I  would  not  have  got  out  of  my  way  to  let 
the  Doge  pass,  and  I  do  not  think  that  since  Satan  fell 
from  heaven  there  was  any  one  so  proud  and  so  insolent 
as  I.  I  used  to  go  to  the  Ridotto  and  gamble  fear- 
fully. I  met  the  best  society  in  the  world,  ruined 
eldest  sons,  swindlers,  parasites,  and  swashbucklers  ; 


301 


THE  VAMPIRE 


yet  in  spite  of  this  dissipated  life,  I  remained  faithful 
to  Clarimonda.  I  loved  her  madly.  She  would  have 
awakened  satiety  itself  and  fixed  inconstancy.  I  should 
have  been  perfectly  happy  but  for  the  accursed  night- 
mare which  returned  every  night,  and  in  which  I 
thought  myself  a  parish  priest  living  an  ascetic  life  and 
doing  penance  for  his  excesses  of  the  daytime.  Re- 
assured by  the  habit  of  being  with  her,  I  scarcely  ever 
thought  of  the  strange  manner  in  which  I  had  made 
her  acquaintance.  However,  what  Father  Serapion 
had  told  me  about  her  occasionally  occurred  to  my 
mind  and  caused  me  some  uneasiness. 

For  some  time  past  Clarimonda's  health  had  been 
failing.  Her  complexion  was  becoming  paler  and  paler 
every  day.  The  doctors,  when  called  in,  failed  to  under- 
stand her  disease  and  knew  not  how  to  treat  it.  They 
prescribed  insignificant  remedies,  and  did  not  return. 
Meanwhile  she  became  plainly  paler,  and  colder  and 
colder.  She  was  almost  as  white  and  as  dead  as 
on  that  famous  night  in  the  unknown  chateau.  I 
was  bitterly  grieved  to  see  her  thus  slowly  pining 
away.  She,  touched  by  my  sorrow,  smiled  gently 
and  sadly  at  me  with  the  smile  of  one  who  knows  she 
is  dying. 


302 


THE  VAMPIRE 


One  morning  I  was  seated  by  her  bed  breakfasting 
at  a  small  table,  in  order  not  to  leave  her  a  minute. 
As  I  pared  a  fruit  I  happened  to  cut  my  finger  rather 
deeply.  The  blood  immediately  flowed  in  a  purple 
stream,  and  a  few  drops  fell  upon  Clarimonda.  Her 
eyes  lighted  up,  her  face  assumed  an  expression  of 
fierce  and  savage  joy  which  I  had  never  before  beheld. 
She  sprang  from  her  bed  with  the  agility  of  an  animal, 
of  a  monkey  or  of  a  cat,  and  sprang  at  my  wound, 
which  she  began  to  suck  with  an  air  of  inexpressible 
delight.  She  sipped  the  blood  slowly  and  carefully  like 
a  gourmand  who  enjoys  a  glass  of  sherry  or  Syracuse 
wine ;  she  winked  her  eyes,  the  green  pupils  of  which 
had  become  oblong  instead  of  round.  From  time  to 
time  she  broke  off"  to  kiss  my  hand,  then  she  again 
pressed  the  wound  with  her  lips  so  as  to  draw  out  a 
few  more  red  drops.  When  she  saw  that  the  blood 
had  ceased  to  flow,  she  rose  up,  rosier  than  a  May 
morn,  her  face  full,  her  eyes  moist  and  shining,  her 
hand  soft  and  warm ;  in  a  word,  more  beautiful  than 
ever  and  in  a  perfect  state  of  health. 

"  I  shall  not  die  !  I  shall  not  die  !  "  she  said,  half 
mad  with  joy,  as  she  hung  around  my  neck.  "I  shall 
be  able  to  love  you  a  long  time  yet.    My  life  is  in 

303 


THE  VAMPIRE 


yours,  and  all  that  I  am  comes  from  you.  A  few 
drops  of  your  rich,  noble  blood,  more  precious  and 
more  efficacious  than  all  the  elixirs  in  the  world,  have 
restored  my  life." 

The  scene  preoccupied  me  a  long  time  and  filled 
me  with  strange  doubts  concerning  Clarimonda.  That 
very  evening,  when  sleep  took  me  back  to  the  presby- 
tery, I  saw  Father  Serapion,  graver  and  more  care-worn 
than  ever.  He  looked  at  me  attentively,  and  said  to 
me :  "  Not  satisfied  with  losing  your  soul,  you  want 
to  lose  your  body  also.  Unfortunate  youth,  what  a 
trap  you  have  fallen  into  !  "  The  tone  in  which  he 
said  these  few  words  struck  me  greatly,  but  in  spite 
of  its  vivacity,  the  impression  was  soon  dispelled  and 
numerous  other  thoughts  effaced  it  from  my  mind. 
However,  one  evening  I  saw  in  my  mirror,  the 
perfidious  position  of  which  she  had  not  taken  into 
account,  Clarimonda  pouring  a  powder  into  the  cup 
of  spiced  wine  she  was  accustomed  to  prepare  for  me 
after  the  meal.  I  took  the  cup,  feigned  to  carry  it  to 
my  lips,  and  put  it  away  as  if  to  finish  it  later  at 
leisure,  but  I  profited  by  a  moment  when  my  beauty 
had  turned  her  back,  to  throw  the  contents  under  the 
table,  after  which  I  withdrew  to  my  room  and  went  to 

3°4 


THE  VAMPIRE 


bed,  thoroughly  determined  not  to  sleep,  and  to  see 
what  she  would  do.  I  had  not  long  to  wait.  Clari- 
monda  entered  in  her  night-dress,  and  having  thrown  it 
off,  stretched  herself  in  the  bed  by  me.  When  she 
was  quite  certain  that  I  was  asleep,  she  bared  my  arm, 
drew  a  golden  pin  from  her  hair,  and  whispered, 
"  One  drop,  nothing  but  a  little  red  drop,  a  ruby  at  the 
end  of  my  needle  !  Since  you  still  love  me,  I  must 
not  die.  Oh,  my  dear  love  !  I  shall  drink  your  beau- 
tiful, brilliant,  purple  blood.  Sleep,  my  sole  treasure, 
my  god  and  my  child.  I  shall  not  hurt  you,  I  shall 
only  take  as  much  of  your  life  as  I  need  not  to  lose 
my  own.  If  I  did  not  love  you  so  much,  I  might 
make  up  my  mind  to  have  other  lovers  whose  veins  I 
would  drain  ;  but  since  I  have  known  you,  I  have  a 
horror  of  every  one  else.  Oh,  what  a  lovely  arm  ! 
how  round  and  white  it  is  !  I  shall  never  dare  to 
prick  that  pretty  blue  vein."  And  as  she  spoke,  she 
wept,  and  I  felt  her  tears  upon  my  arm  which  she 
held  in  her  hands.  At  last  she  made  up  her  mind, 
pricked  me  with  the  needle,  and  began  to  suck  the 
blood  that  flowed.  Though  she  had  scarcely  imbibed 
a  few  drops,  she  feared  to  exhaust  me.  She  tied 
my    arm  with  a   narrow  band,  after  having  rubbed 

305 


THE  VAMPIRE 


my  wound  with  an  unguent  which  healed  it  im- 
mediately. 

I  could  no  longer  doubt ;  Father  Serapion  was 
right.  However,  in  spite  of  the  certainty,  I  could  not 
help  loving  Clarimonda,  and  I  would  willingly  have 
given  her  all  the  blood  she  needed  in  order  to  support 
her  factitious  existence.  Besides,  I  was  not  much 
afraid,  for  the  woman  guarded  me  against  the  vam- 
pire; what  I  had  heard  and  seen  completely  reassured 
me.  At  that  time  I  had  full-blooded  veins  which 
would  not  be  very  speedily  exhausted,  and  I  did  not 
care  whether  my  life  went  drop  by  drop.  I  would 
have  opened  my  arm  myself  and  said  to  her,  "  Drink, 
and  let  my  life  enter  your  body  with  my  blood."  I 
avoided  alluding  in  the  least  to  the  narcotic  which  she 
had  poured  out  for  me  and  the  scene  of  the  pin,  and 
we  lived  in  the  most  perfect  harmony. 

Yet  my  priestly  scruples  tormented  me  more  than 
ever,  and  I  knew  not  what  new  penance  to  invent  to 
tame  and  mortify  my  flesh.  Although  all  these  visions 
were  involuntary  and  I  in  no  wise  took  part  in  them,  I 
dared  not  touch  the  crucifix  with  hands  so  impure  and 
a  mind  so  soiled  by  such  debauch,  whether  real  or  im- 
aginary.    After  falling  into  these  fatiguing  hallucina- 


306 


THE  VAMPIRE 


tions,  I  tried  to  keep  from  sleeping.  I  kept  my  eyes 
open  with  my  ringers,  and  remained  standing  by  the 
wall  struggling  against  slumber  with  all  my  strength ; 
but  soon  it  would  force  itself  into  my  eyes,  and  seeing 
that  the  struggle  was  useless,  I  let  fall  my  arms  with 
discouragement  and  weariness,  while  the  current  carried 
me  again  to  the  perfidious  shores.  Serapion  exhorted 
me  most  vehemently,  and  harshly  reproached  me  with 
weakness  and  lack  of  fervour.  One  day,  when  he  had 
been  more  agitated  than  usual,  he  said  to  me  :  — 

"  There  is  but  one  way  of  ridding  you  of  this  obses- 
sion, and  although  it  is  extreme,  we  must  make  use  of 
it.  Great  evils  require  great  remedies.  I  know  where 
Clarimonda  is  buried.  We  must  dig  her  up,  and  you 
shall  see  in  what  a  pitiful  condition  is  the  object  of 
your  love.  You  will  no  longer  be  tempted  to  lose 
your  soul  for  a  loathsome  body  devoured  by  worms 
and  about  to  fall  into  dust.  It  will  assuredly  bring  you 
back  to  your  senses." 

For  myself,  I  was  so  wearied  of  my  double  life  that 
I  accepted,  wishing  to  know  once  for  all  whether  it 
was  the  priest  or  the  nobleman  who  was  the  dupe  of 
an  illusion.  I  was  determined  to  kill,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  one  or  the  other,  one  of  the  two  men  who  were 


3°7 


•4*  *A*  «4*  *4*    *b  *^*  *lr 

THE  VAMPIRE 

in  me,  or  to  kill  them  both,  for  such  a  life  as  I  had 
been  leading  was  unendurable.  Father  Serapion  pro- 
vided a  pick,  a  crowbar,  and  a  lantern,  and  at  midnight 

we  repaired  to  the  cemetery  of   ,  the  place  of 

which  he  knew  accurately,  as  well  as  the  disposition 
of  the  graves.  Having  cast  the  light  of  our  lantern 
upon  the  inscriptions  on  several  tombs,  we  at  last 
reached  a  stone  half  hidden  by  tall  grass  and  covered 
with  moss  and  parasitical  plants,  on  which  we  made 
out  this  partial  inscription :  "  Here  lies  Clarimonda, 
who  in  her  lifetime  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  world.  .  .  ." 

"  This  is  the  spot,"  said  Serapion,  and  putting  down 
the  lantern,  he  introduced  the  crowbar  in  the  joints  of 
the  stone  and  began  to  raise  it.  The  stone  yielded, 
and  he  set  to  work  with  the  pick.  I  watched  him, 
darker  and  more  silent  than  the  night  itself.  As  for 
him,  bending  over  this  funereal  work,  he  perspired 
heavily  and  his  quick  breath  sounded  like  the  rattle  in 
a  dying  man's  throat.  It  was  a  strange  spectacle,  and 
any  one  who  might  have  seen  us  would  have  taken 
us  rather  for  men  profaning  the  tomb  and  robbing  the 
shrouds  than  for  priests  of  God.  Serapion's  zeal  had 
something  harsh  and  savage  which  made  him  resemble 


308 


THE  VAMPIRE 

a  demon  rather  than  an  apostle  or  an  angel,  and  his 
face,  with  its  austere  features  sharply  brought  out  by 
the  light  of  the  lantern,  was  in  no  wise  reassuring.  I 
felt  an  icy  sweat  break  out  on  my  limbs,  my  hair  rose 
upon  my  head.  Within  myself  I  considered  the  action 
of  the  severe  Serapion  an  abominable  sacrilege,  and 
I  wished  that  from  the  sombre  clouds  that  passed 
heavily  over  our  heads  might  flash  a  bolt  that  would 
reduce  him  to  powder.  The  owls,  perched  on  the 
cypresses,  troubled  by  the  light  of  the  lantern,  struck 
the  glass  with  their  dusty  wings  and  uttered  plaintive 
cries.  The  foxes  yelped  in  the  distance,  and  innu- 
merable sinister  noises  rose  in  the  silence. 

At  last  Serapion's  pick  struck  the  coffin,  which  gave 
out  the  dull,  sonorous  sound  which  nothingness  gives 
out  when  it  is  touched.  He  pulled  ofF  the  cover,  and 
I  saw  Clarimonda,  pale  as  marble,  her  hands  clasped, 
her  white  shroud  forming  but  one  line  from  her  head 
to  her  feet.  A  little  red  drop  shone  like  a  rose  at  the 
corner  of  her  discoloured  lips.  Serapion  at  the  sight 
of  it  became  furious. 

"  Ah  !  there  you  are,  you  demon,  you  shameless 
courtesan !  You  who  drink  blood  and  gold  !  "  and  he 
cast  on  the  body  and  the  coffin  quantities  of  holy  water, 


309 


THE  VAMPIRE 


tracing  with  the  sprinkler  a  cross  upon  the  coffin. 
The  holy  dew  no  sooner  touched  poor  Clarimonda 
than  her  lovely  body  fell  into  dust  and  became  only 
a  hideous  mass  of  ashes  and  half-calcined  bones. 
"  There  is  your  mistress,  my  lord  Romualdo,"  said  the 
inexorable  priest,  as  he  pointed  to  the  remains.  "  Are 
you  now  still  tempted  to  go  to  the  Lido  and  Fusino 
with  your  beauty  ? " 

I  bowed  my  head.  Something  had  been  shattered 
within  me.  I  returned  to  my  presbytery,  and  lord 
Romualdo,  the  lover  of  Clarimonda,  left  the  poor  priest 
with  whom  he  had  so  long  kept  such  strange  company. 
Only  the  next  night  I  saw  Clarimonda.  She  said  to 
me,  as  the  first  time  under  the  porch  of  the  church, 
"Unfortunate  man!  unfortunate  man!  What  have 
you  done  ?  Why  did  you  listen  to  that  foolish  priest  ? 
Were  you  not  happy  ?  What  have  I  done  to  you, 
that  you  should  go  and  violate  my  poor  tomb  and  lay 
bare  the  wretchedness  of  my  nothingness  ?  All  com- 
munion between  our  souls  and  bodies  is  henceforth 
broken.    Farewell ;  you  will  regret  me." 

She  vanished  in  air  like  a  vapour,  and  I  never  saw 
her  again.  Alas !  she  spoke  the  truth.  I  have  re- 
gretted her  more  than  once,  and  I  still  regret  her.  I 


310 


THE  VAMPIRE 

purchased  the  peace  of  my  soul  very  dearly.  The 
love  of  God  was  not  too  much  to  replace  her  love. 

Such,  brother,  is  the  story  of  my  youth.  Never 
look  upon  a  woman,  and  walk  always  with  your  eyes 
cast  on  the  ground,  for  chaste  and  calm  though  you 
may  be,  a  single  minute  may  make  you  lose  eternity. 


311 


Arria  Marcella 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

A   SOUVENIR    OF  POMPEII 

THREE  young  fellows,  three  friends  who  had 
gone  to  Italy  together,  were  last  year  visit- 
ing the  Studj  Museum  at  Naples,  where 
have  been  collected  various  antiquities 
from  the  excavations  at  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum. 

They  wandered  through  the  rooms  as  their  fancy 
led  them,  and  examined  the  mosaics,  bronzes,  and 
frescoes  detached  from  the  walls  of  the  dead  city. 
When  one  of  them  came  upon  something  interesting, 
he  would  call  to  his  companions  with  a  joyous  shout, 
to  the  great  disgust  of  the  taciturn  English  and  the 
stolid  tourists  busy  turning  over  their  guide-books. 

The  youngest  of  the  trio,  who  had  stopped  by  a 
glass  case,  appeared  not  to  hear  the  exclamations  of 
the  others,  for  he  was  absorbed  in  deep  contemplation. 
He  was  examining  most  attentively  a  heap  of  black 
coagulated  ashes,  with  a  hollow  imprint.  It  looked 
like  a  fragment  of  a  statue  mould,  broken  in  the 
casting.    An  artist's  practised  eye  would  have  easily 

3*5 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


recognised  in  it  the  outline  of  a  beautiful  bosom, 
and  of  a  hip  as  pure  in  style  as  that  of  a  Greek 
statue.  Every  one  knows,  for  every  guide-book  men- 
tions the  fact,  that  this  lava  ash,  which  cooled  round  a 
woman's  body,  preserved  the  exquisite  contours  of 
her  frame.  Thanks  to  the  caprice  of  the  eruption 
which  destroyed  four  cities,  this  noble  form,  that 
turned  to  dust  some  two  thousand  years  ago,  has 
come  down  to  us.  The  rounded  bosom  has  traversed 
the  ages ;  while  on  the  other  hand,  many  vanished  em- 
pires have  left  no  trace  behind  them.  This  mark  of 
beauty,  stamped  by  chance  upon  the  scoriae  of  a  vol- 
cano, has  not  been  effaced. 

Seeing  that  he  could  not  drag  himself  away,  Oc- 
tavian's  two  friends  returned  to  him,  and  Max,  touching 
him  on  the  shoulder,  made  him  start  like  a  man  whose 
secret  has  been  surprised.  Plainly  Octavian  had  not 
heard  Max  and  Fabio  approach. 

"Come,  Octavian,"  said  Max,  "don't  stop  for 
hours  at  a  time  by  each  case,  or  we  shall  miss  the 
train,  and  be  unable  to  see  Pompeii  to-day." 

"  What  is  our  friend  looking  at  ? "  added  Fabio, 
who  had  drawn  near.  "  Ah,  I  see !  The  imprint 
found  in  the  house  of  Anius  Diomedes." 


316 


tin  «A» « k»     »A»  *JU      cl^  JL>  »A»  ^"^"^Jwf     w  "^"^"^jIIct  «s«  Ss?!-. 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 

He  cast  a  quick,  strange  look  at  Octavian,  who 
blushed  slightly  as  he  took  Max's  arm,  and  the  visit 
ended  without  further  incident. 

On  leaving  the  Museum,  the  three  friends  got  into 
a  corricolo,  and  were  driven  to  the  station.  The 
corricolo,  with  its  great  red  wheels,  its  seat  studded 
with  brass  nails,  its  thin  and  spirited  horse,  harnessed 
like  a  Spanish  mule,  galloping  along  the  broad  lava 
flags,  is  too  well  known  to  need  describing  here. 
Besides,  I  am  not  writing  impressions  of  travel  in 
Naples,  but  the  simple  account  of  a  strange  and  rather 
incredible  adventure,  which  is  nevertheless  true. 

The  railway  to  Pompeii  runs  almost  the  whole  way 
along  the  seashore.  The  waves  break  in  foam  upon 
a  black  sand  that  looks  like  sifted  charcoal,  for  the 
beach  is  formed  of  molten  lava  and  volcanic  ashes. 
Its  dark  tone  contrasts  with  the  blue  of  the  sky  and 
the  blue  of  the  water.  The  earth  alone  seems  to  be 
in  shadow  in  the  midst  of  all  that  splendour. 

The  villages  which  the  railway  traverses,  or  skirts  — 
Portici,  made  famous  by  Auber's  opera,  Resina,  Torre 
del  Greco,  Torre  dell'  Annunziata,  the  arcaded  houses 
and  terraced  roofs  of  which  are  seen  on  the  way  — 
have,  in  spite  of  the  intensity  of  the  sunshine  and 

3X7 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


the  southern  whitewash,  a  Plutonian  and  ferruginous 
character,  like  Manchester  and  Birmingham.  The 
dust  is  black  ;  impalpable  soot  clings  to  everything ; 
one  feels  that  the  great  forge  of  Vesuvius  is  puffing 
and  smoking  close  by. 

The  three  friends  alighted  at  the  Pompeii  Station, 
amused  by  the  mixture  of  antiquity  and  modern  times 
naturally  suggested  to  the  mind  by  the  title  "  Pompeii 
Station ;  "  a  Greco-Roman  city,  and  a  railway  terminus  ! 

They  traversed  the  cotton  field  —  over  which  flut- 
tered some  white  flakes  —  which  lies  between  the  rail- 
way and  the  unburied  city,  and  took  a  guide  at  the 
osteria  built  outside  the  old  ramparts  —  or,  more  cor- 
rectly speaking,  a  guide  took  them,  a  calamity  which  it 
is  difficult  to  avoid  in  Italy. 

It  was  one  of  those  lovely  days  so  frequent  in 
Naples,  when,  owing  to  the  brilliancy  of  the  sunshine 
and  the  purity  of  the  air,  objects  assume  a  colouring 
which  appears  fabulous  in  the  North,  and  seem  to  belong 
rather  to  a  dream  world  than  to  reality.  Who  ever  has 
once  seen  that  light  of  mingled  gold  and  azure  remains 
homesick  for  it  when  back  amid  his  native  fogs. 

The  innumerable  details  of  the  unburied  city,  which 
had  thrown  off  a  corner  of  its  ashen  shroud,  stood  out 

3i8 


3|<*4*      *j£  «4j  ^4*  «l?  ^»  *k  'jjf  *Jt*  Ts?  Tt?     tr?  ?r?  db  "j?     t&  •£?» 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


in  the  blinding  light.  In  the  background  showed  the 
cone  of  Vesuvius,  rayed  with  blue,  rose,  and  violet  lava, 
gilded  by  the  sun.  A  faint  mist,  almost  invisible  in  the 
light,  capped  the  mountain's  broken  crest.  At  the  first 
glance  it  might  have  been  mistaken  for  one  of  those 
cloudlets  that  often  on  the  clearest  day  rest  on  the 
summit  of  high  peaks,  but  when  observed  more  closely, 
it  was  seen  to  contain  slender  whisps  of  white  vapour, 
issuing  from  the  upper  part  of  the  mount  as  from  the 
holes  of  a  perfume-burner,  to  meet  in  the  form  of  a 
light  vapour.  The  volcano,  good-tempered  that  day, 
was  quietly  smoking  its  pipe,  and  but  for  the  fact  that 
Pompeii  lay  buried  at  its  feet,  it  might  well  have  been 
supposed  as  gentle-tempered  as  Montmartre.  On  the 
other  side  lovely  hills,  with  undulating  and  voluptuous 
lines,  like  those  of  a  woman's  hips,  bounded  the  hori- 
zon ;  and  still  farther  away,  the  calm  azure  line  of 
the  sea,  that  formerly  brought  biremes  and  triremes 
up  to  the  ramparts  of  the  city. 

Surprising  indeed  is  the  aspect  of  Pompeii.  Even 
the  most  prosaic  and  least  intelligent  natures  are 
amazed  by  the  sudden  retrogression  of  nineteen  cen- 
turies. In  two  steps  one  passes  from  modern  to 
antique  life,  from  Christianity  to  Paganism.  When 


3X9 


*  *  d  *  *  &  *  *  *  *  ***********  *  A  A 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


the  three  friends  saw  the  streets  in  which  the  forms  of 
a  vanished  existence  have  been  preserved  intact,  though 
they  were  prepared  by  the  books  they  had  read  and 
the  drawings  they  had  seen,  they  experienced  a  deep 
and  strange  impression.  Octavian  in  particular  seemed 
stupefied,  and  mechanically  followed  the  guide  like  a 
somnambulist,  without  listening  to  the  monotonous 
nomenclature,  committed  to  memory,  which  the  fel- 
low was  reciting  like  a  lesson. 

He  looked  with  amazed  glance  at  the  ruts  worn  in 
the  cyclopean  pavements  of  the  streets,  seemingly  no 
older  than  yesterday,  so  sharp  are  the  lines ;  the  in- 
scriptions, written  in  red  letters  with  a  free  hand  upon 
the  walls,  the  playbills,  notices  of  houses  to  let,  votive 
formulas,  signs,  advertisements  of  all  kinds,  as  interest- 
ing as,  two  thousand  years  hence,  will  be  to  the  yet 
unknown  nations  of  the  future  a  wall  of  Paris  found 
with  all  its  notices  and  posters.  The  houses  with  their 
broken-in  roofs,  that  allowed  the  glance  to  penetrate 
the  mysteries  of  the  interior,  the  many  domestic  details 
which  historians  neglect,  and  the  secret  of  which  civili- 
sations carry  away  with  them,  the  scarce  dry  fountains, 
the  Forum,  caught  by  the  catastrophe  while  being 
repaired,  the  clean  outlines  of  the  columns  and  archi- 


320 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

traves  cut  and  carved,  waiting  to  be  put  in  their 
proper  places ;  the  temples,  consecrated  to  gods  now 
become  mythological,  but  which  then  had  not  a  single 
atheist;  the  shops,  in  which  nothing  was  lacking  but 
the  shop-keeper ;  the  taverns,  where  might  yet  be  seen 
on  the  marble  tops  of  the  tables  the  circular  stain  left 
by  the  topers'  cups  ;  the  barracks  with  the  pillars  painted 
yellow  and  red,  on  which  the  soldiers  had  drawn  cari- 
catures of  combatants;  and  the  two  theatres,  of  the 
drama  and  of  song,  side  by  side,  which  might  reopen 
their  doors  but  that  the  troupes  which  played  there,  now 
reduced  to  dust,  were,  perhaps,  stopping  a  bung-hole 
or  a  crack  in  a  wall,  like  the  noble  dust  of  Alexander 
and  Caesar,  as  Hamlet  in  melancholy  mood  remarked. 

Fabio  ascended  the  stage  of  the  Tragic  Theatre, 
while  Octavian  and  Max  climbed  to  the  top  of  the 
benches,  and  there  he  began  to  recite,  with  abundant 
pantomime,  the  passages  of  verse  which  occurred  to 
him,  to  the  great  terror  of  the  lizards,  which  fled  with 
quivering  tails  and  concealed  themselves  in  the  cracks 
of  the  ruinous  courses  of  stone.  Although  the  brass 
and  earthen  vessels  intended  to  act  as  sounding-boards 
no  longer  existed,  his  voice  nevertheless  was  heard 
sonorous  and  vibrant. 


321 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


The  guide  next  led  them,  through  the  cultivated 
ground  which  covers  the  yet  buried  portions  of  Pom- 
peii, to  the  amphitheatre  at  the  other  extremity  of  the 
city.  They  walked  under  trees  the  roots  of  which 
plunged  into  the  roofs  of  the  buried  houses,  tearing  away 
the  tiles,  cracking  the  ceilings,  dislocating  the  pillars ; 
they  passed  through  fields  in  which  vulgar  vegetables 
ripened  over  marvels  of  art,  material  images  of  that 
forgetfulness  which  time  casts  over  the  finest  things. 

The  amphitheatre  did  not  impress  them  much. 
They  had  already  seen  that  at  Verona,  which  is  larger 
and  fully  as  well  preserved;  they  were  as  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  arrangement  of  these  arenas  of 
antiquity  as  with  that  of  the  bull-fight  arenas  in  Spain, 
which  resemble  them  closely,  save  that  they  are  not  as 
solidly  constructed  nor  of  as  fine  materials. 

So  they  retraced  their  steps,  reached  by  a  cross  wav 
the  Street  of  Fortune,  listening  indifferently  to  the 
guide,  who,  as  he  passed  before  each  house,  called  it 
by  the  name  bestowed  upon  it  when  it  was  discovered, 
and  which  was  derived  from  some  characteristic  pecu- 
liarity :  the  House  of  the  Bronze  Bull,  the  House 
of  the  Faun,  the  House  of  the  Ship,  the  Temple  of 
Fortune,  the  House  of  Meleager,  the  Tavern  of  For- 


322 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


tune  at  the  corner  of  the  Consular  Street,  the  Academy 
of  Music,  the  Public  Bake-house,  the  Pharmacy, 
the  Surgeon's  Shop,  the  Custom  House,  the  Ves- 
tals' Dwelling,  the  Inn  of  Albinus,  the  Thermopoli, 
and  so  on  till  they  reached  the  gate  leading  to  the 
Way  of  the  Tombs. 

Within  the  interior  arch  of  this  brick  gate,  covered 
with  statues,  and  the  ornaments  of  which  have  disap- 
peared, there  are  two  deep  grooves  intended  for  a 
portcullis,  just  as  in  a  mediaeval  donjon,  which  might 
have  been  supposed  to  possess  the  monopoly  of  this 
particular  kind  of  defence. 

"  Who  would  have  suspected,"  said  Max  to  his 
friends,  "  that  Pompeii,  the  Greco-Latin  city,  pos- 
sessed a  gate  so  romantically  Gothic  ?  Can  you 
imagine  a  belated  Roman  knight  sounding  his  horn 
in  front  of  this  gate,  like  a  page  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  in  order  to  have  the  portcullis  raised  ?  " 

"  There 's  nothing  new  under  the  sun,"  answered 
Fabio,  "  and  even  that  remark  is  not  new,  since 
Solomon  made  it." 

"  Perhaps  there  may  be  something  new  under  the 
moon,  "  put  in  Octavian,  with  a  smile  of  melancholy 
irony. 


tt:  db  :b  &  4:      4: 4: 4: 4?  4::fc  4?  4?  ti?  tSr  tfc  tfc  tfc  ?b  tfc  4:  :fe 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


"  My  dear  Octavian,"  said  Max,  who  had  mean- 
while stopped  before  an  inscription  traced  in  red  on 
the  outer  wall,  "  would  you  like  to  be  present  at  a 
combat  of  gladiators  ?  Here  are  the  advertisements : 
Battle  and  hunt  on  the  fifth  of  the  nones  of  April  ; 
the  masts  will  be  raised;  twenty  pairs  of  gladiators 
will  fight  on  the  nones ;  and  if  you  should  happen  to 
fear  for  your  complexion,  you  may  be  reassured,  the 
awnings  will  be  stretched,  —  unless  you  prefer  coming 
to  the  amphitheatre  early,  for  these  fellows  are  to  cut 
each  other's  throats  in  the  morning  —  matutini  erunt. 
Most  kind  indeed !  " 

As  they  chatted  thus,  the  three  friends  walked  down 
the  Way,  bordered  by  sepulchres,  which  to  our 
modern  feelings  would  be  a  sombre  entrance  to  a  city, 
but  which  had  not  the  same  meaning  for  the  ancients, 
whose  tombs,  instead  of  a  hideous  body,  contained 
merely  a  handful  of  ashes  —  the  abstract  idea  of  death. 
Art  embellished  these  final  dwellings,  and  as  Goethe 
says,  the  Pagan  decorated  the  sarcophagi  and  urns  with 
the  images  of  life. 

That  was  indeed  the  reason  why  Max  and  Fabio 
were  visiting,  with  bright  curiosity  and  an  enjoyment 
of  life  which  they  would  certainly  not  have  felt  in  a 

324 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


Christian  cemetery,  these  funereal  monuments  so  richly 
gilded  by  the  sun,  and  which,  placed  as  they  were  on 
either  side  of  the  road,  seemed  still  to  belong  to  life, 
suggesting  nothing  of  that  cold  repulsion  or  of  that 
fantastic  terror  which  is  due  to  our  lugubrious  mode 
of  burial.  They  stopped  before  the  tomb  of  Mamia, 
the  public  priestess,  near  which  has  grown  a  tree,  a 
cypress  or  a  poplar.  They  sat  down  in  the  hemicycle 
of  the  triclinium  of  the  funereal  repasts,  laughing  as  if 
they  had  just  come  into  an  inheritance.  They  cracked 
no  end  of  jokes  upon  the  epitaphs  of  Naevoleia, 
Labeon,  and  the  Arria  family,  save  Octavian,  who 
seemed  to  feel  more  deeply  than  his  careless  com- 
panions the  fate  of  the  dead  of  two  thousand  years 
ago. 

They  thus  came  to  the  villa  of  Arrius  Diomedes,  one 
of  the  largest  dwellings  in  Pompeii.  It  is  reached  by 
brick  steps,  and  after  passing  through  the  door,  flanked 
by  two  small  columns,  one  enters  a  courtyard,  like  the 
patio  in  the  centre  of  Spanish  and  Moorish  houses,  and 
to  which  the  ancients  gave  the  name  of  impluvium  or 
cavcedium.  Fourteen  brick  columns  covered  with 
stucco  formed  on  its  four  faces  a  portico,  or  covered 
peristyle,  like  a  convent  cloister,  in  which  the  inhabi- 


325 


i:  &  •h  ic  is  4:  db  £  i:  si:  is  rt  ±  tfe  tfc  tfc  4:  £   4:  tS:  tfc  afc 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


tants  could  walk,  sheltered  from  the  rain.  The  court 
is  paved  with  a  mosaic  of  bricks  and  white  marble,  the 
effect  of  which  is  very  soft  and  pleasant  to  the  eye. 
In  the  centre,  a  still  existing  square  marble  basin  re- 
ceived the  rain  water  which  fell  from  the  roof  of  the 
portico.  It  produces  a  strange  impression  to  penetrate 
thus  into  the  life  of  antiquity,  and  to  walk  in  patent- 
leather  boots  upon  the  marble  pavement  worn  by 
the  sandals  and  cothurns  of  the  contemporaries  of 
Augustus  and  Tiberius. 

The  guide  then  took  them  into  the  hexedra  or  sum- 
mer drawing-room,  opening  towards  the  sea,  for  the 
sake  of  the  cool  breeze.  This  was  the  place  where 
visitors  were  received  and  a  siesta  was  indulged  in 
during  the  hot  hours  of  the  day,  when  the  mighty 
African  zephyrs  laden  with  languor  and  storms  were 
blowing.  He  showed  them  into  the  basilica,  a  long 
open  gallery  lighting  the  apartments,  in  which  visitors 
and  clients  waited  until  called  by  the  usher.  He  next 
led  them  to  the  terrace  of  white  marble,  whence  the 
view  extends  over  the  green  gardens  and  the  blue  sea. 
Then  he  showed  them  the  nymphaeum,  or  bath-room, 
with  walls  painted  yellow,  stucco  columns  and  mosaic 
pavement,  and  the  marble  bath  which  received  so  many 


326 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

lovely  bodies  now  vanished  like  shadows ;  the  cubic- 
ulum,  in  which  floated  so  many  dreams  that  had 
entered  through  the  ivory  door ;  the  alcoves  in  the 
wall,  closed  by  a  conopeum  or  curtain,  the  bronze 
rings  of  which  are  still  lying  on  the  ground  ;  the  tetra- 
style  or  recreation-room ;  the  chapel  of  the  household 
gods,  the  cabinet  of  archives,  the  library,  the  museum 
of  paintings,  the  gynaeceum,  or  women's  apartments, 
composed  of  small  chambers  partly  in  ruins,  on  the 
walls  of  which  they  observed  some  traces  of  paintings 
and  arabesques,  like  cheeks  from  which  the  rouge  has 
been  unskilfully  wiped. 

Having  finished  this  part  of  the  visit,  they  went 
down  to  the  lower  story,  for  the  ground  is  much  lower 
on  the  garden  side  than  on  the  side  of  the  Street  of 
Tombs.  They  traversed  eight  halls,  painted  in  rosso 
antico,  in  one  of  which  are  niches  like  those  in  the 
vestibule  of  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors  in  the  Alhambra, 
and  they  at  last  reached  a  sort  of  cellar,  the  use 
of  which  was  plainly  indicated  by  eight  clay  amphorae 
standing  against  the  wall,  and  which  had  no  doubt 
been  perfumed  like  Horace's  odes  with  Cretan,  Faler- 
nian,  and  Massican  wine.  A  bright  beam  of  light 
entered  through  a  narrow  opening  obstructed  by  nettles, 


327 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


the  leaves  of  which  the  light  transformed  into  emeralds 
and  topazes,  this  bright  touch  of  nature  smiling  very 
seasonably  upon  the  gloom  of  the  place. 

"  This  is  the  spot,"  said  the  guide  in  his  drawling 
voice,  the  tone  of  which  scarcely  harmonized  with  the 
meaning  of  the  words,  "  where  was  found,  among 
seventeen  skeletons,  that  of  the  lady  the  imprint  of 
which  is  in  the  Naples  Museum.  She  had  on  gold 
rings,  and  the  remains  of  a  fine  tunic  still  adhered  to 
the  ash  cast  that  had  preserved  her  shape." 

The  guide's  commonplace  statements  moved  Octa- 
vian  deeply.  He  desired  to  be  shown  the  exact  spot 
where  the  precious  remains  had  been  discovered,  and 
had  he  not  been  restrained  by  the  presence  of  his 
friends  he  would  have  indulged  in  some  extravagant 
Ivrical  outburst.  His  breast  heaved,  his  eyes  were 
moist ;  the  catastrophe  effaced  by  twenty  centuries 
of  forgetfulness  impressed  him  like  a  quite  recent  mis- 
fortune ;  the  death  of  his  mistress  or  of  a  friend  would 
not  have  moved  him  more,  and  a  tear,  two  thousand 
years  late,  fell,  while  Max's  and  Fabio's  backs  were 
turned,  upon  the  spot  where  had  perished,  stifled  by 
the  hot  ashes  of  the  volcano,  the  woman  for  whom  he 
felt  himself  filled  with  retrospective  love. 


328 


»A»  «A»  »£*        »t»  »4»  «j* 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 

"  We  have  had  enough  archaeology,"'  cried  Fabio  ; 
"  for  we  do  not  propose  to  write  a  dissertation  upon  a 
pitcher  or  a  tile  of  the  days  of  Julius  Caesar,  in  order 
to  be  elected  to  some  provincial  academy.  These 
classical  remembrances  make  me  hungry.  Let  us  go 
and  dine,  if  the  thing  is  possible,  at  that  picturesque 
osteria ;  though  I  am  afraid  they  will  serve  us  with  fossil 
beef-steaks  and  fresh  eggs  laid  before  Pliny's  death." 

"  I  shall  not  quote  Boileau,  and  say,  1  A  fool  occa- 
sionally gives  good  advice,'  "  said  Max  laughing ;  "  it 
would  not  be  polite.  Your  idea  is  a  good  one,  though 
it  would  have  been  pleasanter  to  have  our  meal  here  on 
a  triclinium,  lying  down  after  the  antique  fashion,  and 
waited  on  by  slaves,  after  the  manner  of  Lucullus  and 
Trimalcion.  It  is  true  that  I  don't  see  many  oysters 
from  the  Lucrine  Lake;  the  turbots  and  mullets  of  the 
Adriatic  are  wanting;  the  Apulian  boar  is  not  to  be 
found  in  the  market ;  the  loaves  and  honey-cakes  are 
in  the  Naples  Museum,  hard  as  stones  by  the  side  of 
their  verdigrised  moulds;  raw  macaroni,  dusted  with 
caccia-cavallo,  detestable  though  it  is,  is  better  than 
nothing.    What  is  dear  Octavian's  opinion  ?  " 

Octavian,  who  greatly  regretted  not  having  been  in 
Pompeii  on  the  day  of  the  eruption  of  Vesuvius,  so 


329 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


that  he  might  have  saved  the  lady  with  the  gold  rings 
and  thus  deserved  her  love,  had  not  heard  a  single 
word  of  this  gastronomical  conversation.  Only  the 
last  two  words  uttered  by  Max  struck  his  ear,  and  as 
he  had  no  desire  to  begin  a  discussion,  he  nodded 
affirmatively  at  a  venture,  and  the  three  friends  started 
back  to  the  inn,  following  the  line  of  the  ramparts. 

The  table  was  set  in  a  sort  of  open  porch  which 
forms  a  vestibule  to  the  osteria,  and  the  whitewashed 
walls  of  which  were  decorated  with  daubs  claimed  by 
the  host  to  be  the  work  of  Salvator  Rosa,  Spagnoletto, 
Massimo,  and  other  celebrated  painters  of  the  Neapoli- 
tan school,  which  he  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  praise. 

"  Venerable  host,"  said  Fabio,  "  do  not  waste  your 
eloquence.  We  are  not  English,  and  we  prefer  girls 
to  old  paintings.  Rather  send  us  your  wine  list  by 
that  handsome  brunette  with  velvet  eyes  whom  1 
caught  sight  of  on  the  stairs." 

The  palforio,  perceiving  that  his  guests  did  not 
belong  to  the  easily  taken-in  class  of  Philistines  and 
tradespeople,  stopped  praising  his  gallery  in  order  to 
praise  his  cellar.  To  begin  with,  he  had  every  wine 
of  the  best  brands  :  Chateau-Margaux,  Grand-Laffitte 
which  had  been   to   India   and  back,  Moet,  Sillery, 

33° 


•|<»  fit  »A»  ri»  »A»  »ii  r(U  #!/»  «ln  eJU  »A»  #i»  ci.  «|/»  alt  ri*  rA-«  rlt  »li  *A*  »!»  «1>  »}.»  ol» 

«•>»         c/w  m  vN   «m  wo   vr.  m         «T»  »«  «<•  «™  ««•  WT«  c7»  %7*  »7».  «?»  mat  «w  «3» 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 

Hochmeyer,  port  and  porter,  ale  and  ginger  beer, 
white  and  red  Lacryma  Christi,  Capri  and  Falernian. 

"  What  !  You  have  Falernian,  you  wretch,  and 
put  it  at  the  bottom  of  your  list !  You  compel  us  to 
listen  to  a  prosy  oenological  litany,"  said  Max,  spring- 
ing to  the  inn-keeper's  throat  with  a  gesture  of  comic 
fury.  "  You  are  utterly  lacking  in  feeling  for  local 
colour;  you  are  unworthy  of  living  in  this  antique 
neighbourhood.  But,  is  your  Falernian  good  ?  Was 
it  put  into  amphorae  under  the  consulship  of  Plancus 
—  Consule  PlariLO?" 

"  I  do  not  know  who  Consul  Plancus  is,  and  my 
wine  is  not  in  amphorae ;  but  it  is  old  and  costs  ten 
carlini  a  bottle." 

Day  had  fallen  and  night  had  come  on,  —  a  serene, 
transparent  night,  brighter  unquestionably  than  noon- 
day in  London.  Wonderfully  soft  were  the  azure 
tones  of  earth  and  the  silvery  reflections  in  the  skv  ; 
the  air  was  so  still  that  the  flame  of  the  tapers  placed 
on  the  table  did  not  even  quiver. 

A  young  lad  playing  a  flute  drew  near  the  table 
and  remained  standing,  in  the  attitude  of  a  bas-relief, 
gazing  at  the  three  guests  and  blowing  into  his  soft, 
melodious  instrument  some  of  the  popular  cantilenes 

331 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


in  a  minor  key,  the  charm  of  which  is  so  penetrating. 
Perhaps  the  lad  was  a  direct  descendant  of  the  flute- 
player  who  walked  before  Duilius. 

"  Our  meal  is  assuming  quite  an  antique  look.  All 
we  lack  are  Gaditanian  dancers,  and  wreaths  of  ivy," 
said  Fabio,  as  he  poured  himself  out  a  bumper  of 
Falernian. 

"I  feel  like  quoting  Latin,  as  they  do  in  newspapers. 
Stanzas  keep  recurring  to  my  memory,"  added  Max. 

"  Keep  them  to  yourself,"  cried  Octavian  and 
Fabio,  justly  alarmed.  "  There  is  nothing  so  indigesti- 
ble as  Latin  at  table." 

Conversation  between  young  fellows  who,  with 
cigars  in  their  mouths,  their  elbows  on  the  table, 
contemplate  a  number  of  empty  bottles,  especially  if 
the  wine  is  heady,  generally  turns  pretty  quickly  to 
the  subject  of  women.  Each  of  the  three  stated  his 
views,  which  are  here  briefly  summarised. 

Fabio  cared  for  beauty  and  youth  only.  Volup- 
tuous and  practical,  he  had  no  illusions  or  prejudices  in 
matters  of  love.  A  peasant  girl  was  just  as  good  as  a 
duchess,  provided  she  was  beautiful.  He  cared  more 
for  the  beauty  than  for  the  dress.  He  made  much  fun 
of  some  of  his  friends  who  were  captivated  by  a  few 

332 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


yards  of  lace  and  silk,  and  said  it  would  be  more  rea- 
sonable to  be  in  love  with  a  dressmaker's  show  window. 
These  opinions,  very  sound  at  bottom,  and  which  he 
did  not  conceal,  caused  him  to  pass  for  an  eccentric 
individual. 

Max,  less  artistic  than  Fabio,  cared  only  for  difficult 
undertakings  and  complicated  intrigues.  He  wanted 
to  overcome  resistance  and  seduce  the  virtuous ;  love 
to  him  was  like  a  game  of  chess,  with  moves  long 
meditated,  effects  suspended,  surprises  and  stratagems 
worthy  of  Polybius.  When  he  went  into  a  drawing- 
room,  the  woman  he  chose  to  attack  was  the  one  who 
seemed  least  sympathetic  to  him.  It  was  a  delightful 
pleasure  for  him  to  make  her  pass  from  aversion  to 
love  by  skilful  gradations ;  to  impose  himself  on  those 
who  repelled  him,  and  to  break  down  the  wills  that 
rebelled  against  his  ascendency  seemed  to  him  the 
sweetest  of  triumphs.  Like  those  sportsmen  who 
traverse  fields,  woods,  and  plains  in  rain,  snow,  and 
sun,  unmindful  of  fatigue,  and  with  an  ardour  that  noth- 
ing checks,  for  the  sake  of  some  wretched  game,  which 
they  generally  refuse  to  eat,  Max,  once  he  had  secured 
his  prey,  ceased  to  care  for  it,  and  immediately  started 
out  in  quest  of  another. 


333 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

Octavian  confessed  that  reality  had  no  great  attrac- 
tion for  him.  Not  that  he  indulged  in  school-boy 
dreams  full  of  lilies  and  roses,  but  every  woman  was 
surrounded  by  too  many  prosaic  and  repellent  facts,  too 
many  prosy  fathers,  coquettish  mothers  wearing  real 
flowers  in  false  hair,  bright-faced  cousins  turning  over 
declarations  of  love  in  their  minds,  ridiculous  aunts 
fond  of  little  dogs.  An  engraving  after  a  painting  by 
Horace  Vernet  or  Delaroche  hanging  in  a  woman's 
room,  sufficed  to  kill  in  his  breast  a  rising  passion. 
More  poetical  than  amorous,  he  wanted  a  terrace  on 
Isola  Bella,  on  Lago  Maggiore,  with  a  fine  moonlight, 
by  way  of  setting  for  a  rendezvous.  f  He  would  have 
liked  to  remove  his  love  from  common  life  and  to 
transport  it  to  the  stars.  Consequently  he  had  felt  a 
mighty,  impossible  love  for  all  the  great  feminine  char- 
acters preserved  by  art  or  history; ;  like  Faust,  he  had 
loved  Helen,  and  had  wished  that  the  undulations  of 
centuries  had  brought  to  him  one  of  those  sublime 
incarnations  of  the  desires  and  dreams  of  mankind,  the 
form  of  which,  invisible  to  vulgar  eyes,  ever  subsists 
through  time  and  space.  He  had  formed  an  ideal 
seraglio  with  Semiramis,  Aspasia,  Cleopatra,  Diana  of 
Poitiers,  Joan  of  Aragon.    Sometimes,  too,  he  fell  in 


334 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


love  with  statues,  and  one  day,  as  he  passed  before  the 
Venus  of  Milo  in  the  Louvre,  he  had  called  out,  "  Oh, 
who  will  give  you  back  your  arms,  so  that  you  may 
press  me  to  your  marble  breasts."  At  Rome,  the 
sight  of  a  thick  tress  of  hair,  exhumed  from  an  antique 
tomb,  had  inspired  him  with  a  curious  fancy.  He  had 
endeavoured,  by  means  of  two  or  three  threads  of  the 
hair,  purchased  at  the  price  of  gold  from  the  keeper 
and  handed  to  a  very  powerful  somnambulist,  to  call 
up  the  shadow  and  shape  of  this  dead  woman  ;  but  the 
conductive  fluid  had  evaporated  during  the  lapse  of  so 
many  years,  and  the  apparition  had  been  unable  to 
emerge  from  eternal  night. 

As  Fabio  had  guessed  when  he  saw  his  friend  stand- 
ing before  the  glass  case  in  the  Studj,  the  imprint  found 
in  the  cellar  of  the  house  of  Arrius  Diomedes  had 
excited  in  Octavian  an  insensate  desire  for  a  retrospec- 
tive ideal.  He  was  endeavouring  to  leave  time  and 
life  behind  and  to  transport  his  soul  to  the  age  of 
Titus. 

Max  and  Fabio  withdrew  to  their  rooms,  and,  their 
heads  somewhat  heavy,  thanks  to  the  classic  vapours  of 
the  Falernian,  they  speedily  fell  asleep.  Octavian, 
who  had  repeatedly  left  his  glass  untouched  before 


335 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


him, — not  caring  to  trouble  by  material  intoxication 
the  poetic  fervour  that  seethed  in  his  brain,  —  felt 
by  the  restlessness  of  his  nerves  that  sleep  would  not 
come  to  him.  He  left  the  osteria  slowly,  to  cool  his 
brow  and  to  quiet  his  thoughts  in  the  air  of  night. 

Unconsciously  his  feet  took  him  to  the  dead  city. 
He  removed  the  wooden  bar  that  closed  it  and  ventured 
into  the  ruins.  The  white  moonbeams  illumined  the 
wan  houses,  and  divided  the  streets  into  two  parts  of 
silvery  light  and  bluish  shadow.  This  nocturnal  light 
concealed  with  its  delicate  tints  the  ruinous  state  of  the 
buildings.  The  broken  columns,  the  cracked  facades, 
the  roofs  broken  down  by  the  eruption,  were  not 
noticed  as  in  the  crude  glare  of  noon.  The  parts  that 
were  lacking  were  filled  in  by  half-tints,  and  an  unex- 
pected beam,  like  a  touch  of  feeling  in  a  sketch  for  a 
painting,  suggested  a  whole  fallen  ensemble.  The 
mighty  genii  of  night  seemed  to  have  restored  the 
fossil  city  for  the  performance  of  a  strange  life. 

Sometimes,  even,  Octavian  fancied  he  saw  faint 
human  shapes  moving  in  the  darkness,  but  they  van- 
ished as  soon  as  they  reached  the  lighted  part.  Soft 
whisperings,  vague  rumours,  floated  through  the  silence. 
He  attributed  these  at  first  to  the  winking  of  his  eyes 


336 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


and  the  buzzing  of  his  ears ;  he  thought  they  must  be 
due  to  optical  illusions,  the  plaint  of  the  sea  breeze, 
or  the  hurried  flight  of  a  lizard  or  of  an  adder  through 
the  nettles ;  for  everything  lives  in  nature,  even  death  ; 
everything  sounds,  even  silence.  Nevertheless,  he 
could  not  help  a  certain  feeling  of  anxiety,  a  slight 
shudder,  due  perhaps  to  the  chilly  air  of  night.  Twice 
or  thrice  he  looked  round.  He  did  not  feel  alone  in 
the  deserted  town  as  he  had  done  a  moment  since. 
Could  his  comrades  have  done  the  same  thing  as  he, 
and  were  they  looking  for  him  among  the  ruins  ?  Were 
the  shapes  he  had  caught  glimpses  of  Max  and  Fabio  ? 
Were  the  indistinct  sounds  of  steps  produced  by  them 
as  they  walked  and  chatted  and  disappeared  round  the 
corner  of  a  square  ?  Although  this  was  a  natural 
explanation,  Octavian  felt  that  it  was  not  the  correct 
one,  and  he  failed  to  convince  himself  by  any  reason- 
ing. The  solitude  and  the  shadow  were  peopled  by 
invisible  beings  whom  he  had  disturbed.  He  had  come 
plump  into  the  middle  of  a  mystery,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  his  departure  were  awaited  before  anything 
could  begin.  Such  were  the  absurd  ideas  which  came 
into  his  mind,  and  which  assumed  much  likelihood, 
owing  to  the  time,  the  place,  and  the  numerous  causes 


22 


337 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


of  terror  that  will  easily  recur  to  those  who  have  been 
in  some  great  ruin  at  night. 

As  he  passed  before  a  house  which  he  had  noticed 
during  the  day,  and  on  which  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly,  he  saw,  in  a  state  of  complete  restoration,  a 
portico  which  he  had  endeavoured  to  reconstruct  in  his 
mind.  Four  Doric  columns  fluted  half-way  up,  the 
shaft  covered  with  a  coat  of  red  like  a  purple  drapery, 
supported  a  cyma  covered  with  polychrome  ornaments, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  finished  but  the  day  before. 
On  the  side  wall  of  the  door  a  Laconian  mastiff  in 
encaustic,  accompanied  by  the  usual  legend,  Cave  canem, 
was  baying  at  the  moon  and  at  visitors  with  painted 
fury.  Above  the  mosaic  threshold  the  word  Have 
in  Oscan  and  Latin  characters  welcomed  the  guests 
with  its  friendly  syllables.  The  outer  walls,  painted 
red  and  yellow,  showed  not  a  single  crevice.  The 
house  was  higher  by  one  story,  and  the  tile  roof, 
topped  by  a  bronze  acroter,  exhibited  a  perfect  profile 
against  the  pale-blue  sky,  in  which  glimmered  a  few 
stars. 

This  strange  restoration,  carried  out  between  after- 
noon and  night  by  some  unknown  architect,  greatly 
bothered  Octavian,  who  was  quite  certain  that  during 


338 


&  &  &  £  ~h  'k  &  -k  °k£:&&£&'Jhib&&!k  & 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 

the  day  he  had  seen  that  same  house  in  a  very  ruinous 
condition.  The  mysterious  restorer  had  worked  very 
fast,  for  the  neighbouring  dwellings  had  a  similar  re- 
cent and  new  look.  All  the  pillars  were  topped  by 
capitals ;  not  a  stone,  not  a  brick,  not  a  pellicle  of 
stucco,  not  a  morsel  of  paint  was  lacking  on  the 
brilliant  walls  of  the  facades,  and  through  the  peristyles 
he  could  see,  round  the  marble  basin  in  the  cavaedium, 
white  and  rose  laurels,  myrtles,  and  pomegranate  trees. 
History  was  at  fault ;  there  had  been  no  eruption,  or 
the  hand  of  time  had  gone  back  twenty  centuries  upon 
the  dial  of  eternity. 

Octavian,  filled  with  deepest  surprise,  asked  himself 
whether  he  was  sleeping  standing  or  whether  he  was 
walking  in  a  dream.  He  examined  himself  seriously 
to  ascertain  whether  delirium  were  evoking  hallucina- 
tions in  his  mind;  but  he  was  compelled  to  recognise 
that  he  was  neither  sleeping  nor  mad.  A  singular 
change  had  taken  place  in  the  atmosphere.  Faint  rosy 
tints  mingled  their  violet  gradations  with  the  azure 
beams  of  the  moon.  The  heavens  were  growing 
lighter  on  the  horizon.  It  seemed  as  if  day  were 
about  to  dawn.  Octavian  looked  at  his  watch ;  it 
pointed  to  midnight.    Fancying  it  might  have  stopped, 


339 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


he  touched  the  repeater  spring.  The  repeater  sounded 
twelve  times.  It  was  midnight  unquestionably,  and 
yet  the  light  kept  on  brightening,  the  moon  was  disap- 
pearing in  the  azure,  which  was  becoming  more  and 
more  luminous;  the  sun  was  rising. 

Then  Octavian,  in  whose  mind  the  notion  of  time 
was  becoming  confused,  was  fain  to  admit  that  he  was 
walking,  not  in  dead  Pompeii,  —  the  cold  corpse  of  a 
city  half  drawn  from  its  shroud,  —  but  in  a  living, 
young,  intact  Pompeii,  on  which  the  burning  mud 
torrents  of  Vesuvius  had  not  yet  flowed.  An 
inexplicable  miracle  had  just  carried  him  back,  a 
Frenchman  of  the  nineteenth  century,  to  the  days  of 
Titus,  not  in  spirit  but  in  reality ;  or  else  it  was  bring- 
ing back  to  him  from  the  depths  of  the  past  a  destroyed 
city,  with  its  vanished  inhabitants;  for  at  that  moment 
a  man  wearing  an  antique  costume  emerged  from  a 
neighbouring  house. 

The  man  wore  his  hair  short  and  was  smooth  shaven. 
He  had  on  a  brown  tunic  and  a  grayish  cloak,  the  ends 
of  which  were  turned  up  so  as  not  to  impede  his  steps. 
He  walked  rapidly,  almost  ran,  and  passed  Octavian 
without  seeing  him.  On  his  arm  he  carried  an  esparto 
basket  and  he  was  going  towards  the  Forum.  There 


340 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


was  no  doubt  about  it,  he  was  a  slave,  a  Davus  going 
to  market. 

The  sound  of  wheels  was  heard.  An  antique  cart, 
drawn  by  white  oxen  and  laden  with  vegetables,  entered 
the  street.  By  the  oxen  walked  a  driver  with  bare 
legs  tanned  by  the  sun,  sandals  on  his  feet,  and  wear- 
ing a  sort  of  linen  shirt  puffed  out  at  the  waist.  A 
pointed  straw  hat  thrown  behind  his  back  and  fastened 
round  his  neck  by  a  strap,  showed  his  head,  of  a  type 
unknown  at  the  present  day;  a  low  brow  with  hard 
bumps,  black,  crinkly  hair,  a  straight  nose,  eyes  as  soft 
as  those  of  the  oxen,  and  a  neck  like  that  of  a  country 
Hercules.  He  gravely  touched  his  animals  with  the 
goad,  assuming  a  statuesque  pose  that  would  have 
made  Ingres  go  into  ecstasies.  He  noticed  Octavian 
and  seemed  surprised,  but  went  on  his  way.  He  did 
turn  round  once,  no  doubt  unable  to  understand  the 
presence  of  that  personage,  strange  to  him,  but  with 
his  placid  rustic  stupidity  leaving  cleverer  men  than  he 
to  read  the  riddle. 

Campanian  peasants  also  came,  driving  before  them 
asses  bearing  skins  of  wine  and  tinkling  their  brazen 
bells.  Their  faces  were  as  different  from  those  of  our 
modern  peasants  as  medals  differ  from  pennies. 


34i 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

The  town  was  gradually  rilling  up  with  people,  like 
one  of  those  panorama  pictures  that  show  deserted  at 
first  and  which  a  change  in  the  light  fills  with  people 
invisible  before. 

Octavian's  feelings  had  now  changed.  A  moment 
ago,  in  the  deceitful  darkness  of  night,  he  had  been  a 
prey  to  that  uneasiness  which  the  bravest  cannot  avoid 
when  reason  fails  to  explain  troubling,  fantastic  circum- 
stances. His  vague  terror  was  replaced  by  deep  stupe- 
faction. He  could  not  understand  the  evidence  of  his 
senses,  in  view  of  the  clearness  of  his  perceptions,  and 
yet  what  he  beheld  was  absolutely  incredible.  Still  not 
quite  convinced,  he  sought  by  noting  small  realistic 
details  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  not  the  plaything 
of  a  hallucination.  It  could  not  be  phantoms  that  filed 
past  him,  for  the  brilliant  light  of  the  sun  illumined 
them  with  unmistakable  reality,  and  their  shadows, 
lengthened  in  the  morning  light,  were  cast  on  the 
pavements  and  the  walls. 

Unable  to  understand  what  was  happening  to  him, 
Octavian,  at  bottom  delighted  at  seeing  one  of  his 
dearest  dreams  realised,  let  himself  go  and  simply 
watched  all  these  marvels  without  attempting  to  under- 
stand them.     He  said  to  himself  that  since  in  virtue 


342 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


of  some  mysterious  power  he  was  enabled  to  live  for  a 
few  hours  in  a  vanished  age,  he  was  not  going  to  lose 
his  time  in  the  solution  of  an  incomprehensible  prob- 
lem ;  and  he  continued  bravely  on  his  way,  looking 
right  and  left  at  a  prospect  which  was  to  him  at  once 
so  new  and  so  old. 

But  what  was  the  particular  period  in  the  life  of 
Pompeii  into  which  he  had  been  transported  ?  The 
names  of  the  public  personages  in  an  aedile's  inscription 
engraved  on  the  wall  enabled  him  to  ascertain  that  he 
was  at  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Titus, —-that  is, 
in  the  year  79  of  the  Christian  era.  A  sudden  thought 
flashed  into  Octavian's  mind.  The  woman  whose  im- 
print he  had  admired  in  the  Naples  Museum  must  be 
alive,  since  the  eruption  of  Vesuvius,  in  which  she  had 
perished,  had  taken  place  on  August  24  in  that  year ;  so 
it  was  possible  for  him  to  find  her,  to  see  her,  to  speak 
to  her.  The  great  desire  which  he  had  experienced  at 
the  sight  of  those  ashes  moulded  upon  divine  contours, 
was  perhaps  to  be  satisfied  ;  for  nothing  could  be  im- 
possible to  a  love  that  could  compel  time  to  go  back- 
wards, and  the  same  hour  to  pass  twice  through  the 
hour-glass  of  eternity. 

While  Octavian  indulged  in  these  reflections,  hand- 


343 


•i*  «4*  rt%  «■♦-»  ri*  »A*  rK  «1»  <•!•»  ri%  »A«  «!•»  rl*  »A»  JU  rl-»  rl-»  rl«  «£•  lj«  j|j 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


some  young  maids  were  going  to  the  fountains,  sup- 
porting with  the  tips  of  their  white  fingers  the  jars  they 
balanced  on  their  heads.  Patricians  in  white  togae 
bordered  with  purple  bands,  and  followed  by  their  train 
of  clients,  were  proceeding  to  the  Forum.  Purchasers 
crowded  round  the  shops  ;  each  of  which  was  distin- 
guished by  a  carved  and  painted  sign,  and  recalled  by 
its  small  size  and  its  shape  the  Moorish  shops  in 
Algiers.  Above  most  of  the  stalls  a  splendid  phallus 
in  coloured  terra  cotta,  bearing  the  words  hie  habitat 
felicitas,  gave  proof  of  superstitious  precautions  against 
the  evil  eye.  Octavian  noticed  even  an  amulet  shop, 
the  show-case  of  which  was  filled  with  horns,  branches 
of  coral,  and  small  golden  Priapae,  such  as  are  still 
to  be  found  in  Naples,  as  defences  against  jettatura, 
whereupon  he  remarked  to  himself  that  superstition 
was  more  durable  than  religion  even. 

Following  the  pavement,  which  borders  every  street 
in  Pompeii,  —  the  English  being  thus  deprived  of  the 
honour  of  having  invented  that  comfort,  —  Octavian 
came  face  to  face  with  a  handsome  young  fellow  of 
about  his  own  age,  wearing  a  saffron-coloured  tunic, 
and  draped  in  a  mantle  of  fine  white  wool  as  soft  as 
cashmere.    The  sight  of  Octavian,  wearing  the  hid- 


344 


±±  &  &  4:4:4:  i?  4: 4:  4:4:4:4:^4:4:4:4:4:4: 4:4:4: 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


eous  modern  hat,  an  ugly  black  frock-coat,  his  legs 
pinioned  in  trousers,  his  feet  fastened  in  by  shining 
boots,  appeared  to  surprise  the  young  Pompeian  as 
much  as  the  sight  of  a  Redskin  or  a  Botocudo  with 
his  feathers,  his  necklace  of  grizzly-bear  claws  and  his 
queer  tattooing  would  surprise  us  on  the  Boulevard. 
However,  as  he  was  a  well-bred  young  man,  he  did  not 
burst  out  laughing  in  Octavian's  face,  and  taking  pity 
on  the  poor  barbarian  lost  in  the  Greco-Roman  city, 
he  said  to  him  in  a  gently  modulated  voice  :  — 
"  Advena,  salve." 

It  was  quite  natural  that  an  inhabitant  of  Pompeii  in 
the  reign  of  the  divine  Emperor  Titus,  Most  Powerful 
and  Most  August,  should  speak  Latin  ;  yet  Octavian 
started  on  hearing  that  dead  language  spoken  by  a 
living  mouth.  Then  he  congratulated  himself  on  hav- 
ing been  one  of  the  best  Latin  students  and  carried  off 
prizes  in  the  competitions.  The  Latin  taught  in  the 
University  served  him  for  once,  and  recalling  his  class- 
room experience,  he  replied  to  the  Pompeian's  welcome 
in  the  style  of  De  viribus  lllustribus  and  of  Selectee  e 
profanis,  in  a  fairly  intelligible  manner,  but  with  a 
Parisian  accent  which  compelled  the  young  man  to 
smile. 


345 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


"  Perhaps  it  is  easier  for  you  to  speak  Greek,"  said 
the  Pompeian.  "  I  know  that  language  too,  for  I 
studied  at  Athens." 

"  I  know  even  less  Greek  than  Latin,"  replied  Oc- 
tavian.    "  I  am  from  Gaul,  from  Paris,  from  Lutetia." 

"I  know  that  country.  My  ancestor  made  war  in 
Gaul  under  the  great  Julius  Caesar.  But  what  a  curi- 
ous dress  you  wear !  The  Gauls  I  saw  at  Rome  were 
not  dressed  like  that." 

Octavian  attempted  to  make  the  young  Pompeian 
understand  that  twenty  centuries  had  passed  since  the 
conquest  of  Gaul  by  Julius  Caesar,  and  that  fashions 
had  possibly  changed  in  the  meantime.  But  his  Latin 
was  not  sufficient  for  the  purpose;  and  indeed,  it  did 
not  amount  to  much. 

"  I  am  called  Rufus  Holconius,  and  my  house  is 
yours,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "  unless  you  prefer  the 
freedom  of  the  tavern.  You  can  be  quite  comfortable 
at  the  inn  of  Albinus,  near  the  gate  of  the  Augustus 
Felix  suburb,  and  in  the  hostelry  of  Sarinus,  the  son  of 
Publius,  near  the  second  tower;  but  if  you  have  no 
objection,  I  should  be  glad  to  show  you  through  the 
city,  which  is  strange  to  you.  I  like  you,  you  young 
barbarian,  although  you  did  try  to  play  on  my  credulity 

346 


J,     A,     r^.  »4»  «i*  rL>  «1»  •!»  ^7  ^tj?  ife  tl?  tl?  tl?         toT  db  tl?  t??  t?b 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


bv  pretending  that  Emperor  Titus,  who  is  reigning  at 
this  moment,  died  two  thousand  years  ago,  and  that 
the  Nazarene,  whose  abominable  followers,  covered 
with  pitch,  lighted  up  the  gardens  of  Nero,  alone 
reigns  as  master  in  the  deserted  heavens  whence 
the  great  gods  have  fallen.  By  Pollux,"  he  added, 
glancing  at  a  red  inscription  on  a  corner  of  a  street, 
"you  have  come  at  the  right  moment.  They  are 
playing  Plautus'  Casina,  recently  put  again  on  the 
stage.  It  is  a  curious  and  comical  play,  which  will 
amuse  you,  even  if  you  can  make  out  no  more 
than  the  gestures.  Follow  me,  for  it  will  soon  begin. 
I  will  have  you  placed  in  the  seats  for  guests  and 
strangers." 

Hereupon  Rufus  Holconius  walked  off  toward  the 
small  comic  theatre  which  the  three  friends  had  visited 
during  the  course  of  the  day. 

The  Frenchman  and  the  Pompeian  walked  through 
the  Street  of  the  Fountain  of  Abundance,  the  Street  of 
Theatres,  passed  by  the  College  and  the  Temple  of 
Isis,  the  Sculptor's  Studio,  and  entered  the  Odeon,  or 
comic  theatre,  by  a  side  entrance.  Thanks  to  the 
recommendation  of  Holconius,  Octavian  was  placed 
near  the  proscenium.    Every  glance  was  immediately 


347 


k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  tfc  4:  k  k  k  k 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


turned  upon  him  with  kindly  curiosity,  and  light  whis- 
perings ran  all  about  the  amphitheatre. 

The  play  had  not  yet  begun.  Octavian  turned  the 
time  to  account  by  examining  the  hall.  The  semi- 
circular benches,  ending  at  each  extremity  in  a  magni- 
ficent lion's  paw,  carved  out  ofVesuvian  lava,  rose  and 
broadened  from  an  empty  space  answering  to  our  or- 
chestra stalls,  but  much  smaller  and  paved  with  a 
mosaic  of  Greek  marbles ;  a  broader  bench  formed 
every  here  and  there  a  distinctive  zone,  and  four  stair- 
cases corresponding  to  the  entrances,  and  ascending 
from  the  base  to  the  summit  of  the  amphitheatre, 
divided  it  into  four  wedges,  wider  at  the  top  than  at 
the  bottom.  The  spectators,  provided  with  tickets 
consisting  of  small  ivory  counters  on  which  were 
marked  the  compartment,  the  wedge,  and  the  bench, 
with  the  title  of  the  play  to  be  performed  and  the  name 
of  the  author,  found  their  places  without  difficulty. 
The  magistrates  and  nobles,  the  married  men,  the 
young  men,  the  soldiers  with  their  gleaming  bronze 
helmets,  had  separate  seats.  The  beautiful  togas  and 
the  full  white  mantles,  well  draped,  spreading  over  the 
lower  steps  and  contrasting  with  the  varied  dresses  of 
the  women,  who  were  seated  above,  and  the  gray  capes 


348 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


of  the  common  people,  relegated  to  the  upper  benches 
near  the  pillars  supporting  the  roof,  between  which  one 
could  see  a  sky  as  intensely  blue  as  the  azure  field  of  a 
panathena,  formed  a  wonderful  spectacle.  A  fine  spray 
of  water,  scented  with  saffron,  fell  in  imperceptible 
drops  from  the  friezes,  and  perfumed  the  air  while 
cooling  it.  Octavian  recalled  the  fetid  emanations  that 
poison  the  atmosphere  of  our  theatres,  so  incommo- 
dious that  they  may  be  considered  places  of  torture, 
and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  civilisation  had  not 
improved  greatly. 

The  curtain,  supported  by  a  transverse  beam,  fell 
below  the  orchestra.  The  musicians  seated  themselves 
in  their  tribune,  and  Prologue  appeared,  dressed  gro- 
tesquely, his  head  covered  with  an  ugly  mask,  put  on 
like  a  helmet. 

Prologue,  after  having  bowed  to  the  audience  and 
called  for  applause,  began  to  make  an  argument. 
"Old  plays,"  he  said,  "were  like  wine,  which  im- 
proves with  use;  and  Casina,  dear  to  the  elders,  should 
surely  not  be  less  dear  to  the  young.  All  could  enjoy 
it,  the  former  because  they  were  acquainted  with  it, 
the  latter  because  they  did  not  yet  know  it.  For  the 
rest,  the  play  had  been  carefully  restored,  and  the  spec- 


349 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

tators  ought  to  listen  to  it  free  from  care,  without 
thinking  of  their  debts  or  their  creditors,  for  no  arrests 
could  be  made  at  a  theatre.  It  was  a  lucky  day,  the 
weather  was  fine,  and  the  halcyons  were  soaring  over 
the  Forum."  Then  he  gave  a  summary  of  the  com- 
edy which  the  actors  were  about  to  perform,  at  such 
length  that  it  is  clear  surprise  had  little  to  do  with  the 
pleasure  the  ancients  took  in  dramatic  performances. 
He  stated  that  the  old  man  Stalino,  in  love  with  his 
beautiful  slave  Casina,  proposed  to  marry  her  to  his 
farmer  Olympio,  a  complaisant  husband,  whose  place 
he  was  to  occupy  on  the  wedding  night ;  and  that 
Lycostrata,  Stalino's  wife,  to  checkmate  her  vicious 
husband's  lust,  proposed  to  marry  Casina  to  the  equerry 
Chalinus,  with  the  intention  of  favouring  her  son's 
amours;  finally,  how  Stalino,  completely  taken  in, 
mistook  a  disguised  slave  youth  for  Casina,  who,  on 
its  being  found  that  she  was  free  and  of  ingenuous  birth, 
wedded  the  young  master,  whom  she  loved  and  by 
whom  she  was  beloved. 

The  young  Frenchman  paid  little  attention  to  the 
actors  with  their  bronze-mouthed  masks  as  they  per- 
formed on  the  stage.  The  slaves  ran  hither  and 
thither  to  simulate  haste ;   the  old  man  wagged  his 


350 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


head  and  held  out  his  trembling  hands  ;  the  matron, 
loud-voiced,  with  sour  and  disdainful  look,  asserted  her 
importance  and  scolded  her  husband,  to  the  great  de- 
light of  the  spectators  The  actors  entered  and  went 
out  by  three  doors,  cut  in  the  wall  at  the  back,  and 
leading  to  the  actors'  foyer.  Stalino's  house  was  at 
one  corner  of  the  stage,  and  opposite  was  that  of  his 
old  friend  Alcesimus.  The  setting,  though  very  well 
painted,  rather  gave  an  idea  of  the  place  than  repre- 
sented it,  like  the  non-characteristic  stage-setting  of 
the  classic  tragedy. 

When  the  nuptial  procession  escorting  the  sham 
Casina  entered  on  the  stage,  a  great  burst  of  laughter, 
such  as  Homer  describes  the  laughter  of  the  gods  to 
be,  ran  along  every  bench  in  the  amphitheatre,  and 
thunders  of  applause  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  place. 
But  Octavian  no  longer  listened  or  looked,  for  in  the 
compartment  occupied  by  the  women  he  had  just 
caught  sight  of  a  wonderful  beauty.  From  that  min- 
ute the  lovely  face?  which  had  attracted  him  were 
eclipsed,  as  the  stars  are  eclipsed  by  Phoebe.  Every- 
thing vanished,  and  .disappeared  as  in  a  dream.  A  mist 
seemed  to  cover  the  benches  that  swarmed  with  peo- 
ple, and  the  shrill  voices  of  the  actors  seemed  lost  in 


35i 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


infinite  distance.  He  felt  at  his  heart  a  sort  of  electric 
shock,  and  when  that  woman's  glance  was  turned  upon 
him,  he  felt  that  sparks  flashed  from  his  breast. 

She  was  dark  and  pale  ;  her  wavy,  curly  hair,  black 
as  night,  was  slightly  drawn  back  on  the  temples  in 
the  Greek  fashion,  and  in  her  white  face  shone  sombre, 
soft  eyes,  full  of  an  indefinable  expression  of  voluptu- 
ous sadness  and  weariness  of  passion.  Her  mouth, 
disdainfully  curved  at  the  corners,  protested  by  the 
ardent  brilliancy  of  its  flaming  purple  against  the  placid 
whiteness  of  the  face.  Her  neck  had  those  lovely, 
pure  lines  which  nowadays  are  to  be  seen  on  statues 
only.  Her  arms  were  bare  to  the  shoulder,  and  from 
the  tips  of  her  proud  breasts,  that  lifted  her  rose 
mauve-coloured  tunic,  fell  two  folds  that  might  have 
been  carved  in  marble  by  Phidias  or  Cleomenes. 

The  sight  of  those  breasts,  so  perfect  in  contour,  so 
pure  in  outline,  filled  Octavian  with  emotion.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  they  exactly  fitted  the  hollow  im- 
prints in  the  Museum  of  Naples,  which  had  cast  him 
into  such  an  ardent  reverie,  and  a  voice  called  out  from 
within  his  heart  that  that  was  the  woman  who  had  been 
stifled  by  the  ashes  of  Vesuvius  in  the  villa  of  Arrius 
Diomedes.    By  what  miracle  did  he  now  behold  her 


352 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


alive,  present  at  the  performance  of  Plautus'  Casina  ? 
He  did  not  attempt  to  understand  it.  For  the  matter 
of  that,  how  did  he  happen  to  be  there  himself?  He 
accepted  her  presence  as  in  dreams  we  accept  the  in- 
tervention of  people  who  have  long  since  died  and  who 
nevertheless  act  as  if  they  were  still  living.  Besides, 
his  emotion  checked  his  reasoning  powers.  As  far  as 
he  was  concerned,  the  wheel  of  time  was  thrown  out 
of  its  rut,  and  his  victorious  desire  had  chosen  its  own 
place  amid  the  vanished  centuries.  He  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  his  dream,  one  of  the  least  realisable, 
a  retrospective  chimera.  All  at  once  his  life  was  filled 
out. 

As  he  gazed  upon  that  face,  so  calm  and  yet  so  full 
of  passion,  he  understood  that  he  beheld  his  first  and 
last  love,  that  he  had  before  him  his  cup  of  supreme 
intoxication.  He  felt  the  remembrances  of  all  the 
women  he  thought  he  had  loved  vanishing  like  faint 
shadows,  and  his  soul  became  virgin  or  any  anterior 
emotion.    The  past  disappeared. 

Meanwhile,  the  beautiful  Pompeian  girl,  resting  her 
chin  upon  the  palm  of  her  hand,  cast  upon  Octavian, 
while  appearing  to  watch  the  stage,  the  velvety  glance 
of  her  darksome  eyes,  a  glance  that  fell  upon  him 


23 


353 


£  4,  4;  4;  4;  4;  4-  4;  4;  4»  4*  4»  4>  4.  4;  4j  4;  4;  £  4;  4j  4«  £  4; 

ARRIA  MARCELLA 


heavy  and  burning,  like  a  jet  of  molten  lead.  Then 
she  leaned  and  whispered  to  a  girl  seated  by  her 
side. 

The  performance  was  over.  The  crowd  passed  out 
of  the  exits.  Octavian,  refusing  the  proffered  service 
of  his  guide  Holconius,  sprang  out  of  the  first  exit 
which  he  came  upon.  He  had  scarcely  reached  the 
door,  when  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  a  feminine 
voice  whispered  to  him,  low,  but  so  distinctly  that  he 
lost  not  a  word,  — 

"  I  am  Tyche  Nevoleia,  and  I  minister  to  the 
pleasures  of  Arria  Marcella,  daughter  of  Arrius  Dio- 
medes.    My  mistress  loves  you;  follow  me." 

Arria  Marcella  had  just  entered  her  litter,  borne  by 
four  strong  Syrian  slaves,  nude  to  the  belt,  their  bronze 
torsos  shining  in  the  sun.  The  curtains  of  the  litter 
were  drawn  apart,  and  a  white  hand,  covered  with 
rings,  was  waving  in  friendly  fashion  to  Octavian,  as 
if  to  confirm  the  message  borne  by  the  servant.  The 
purple  curtain  closed,  and  the  litter  went  off,  to  the 
cadenced  step  of  the  slaves. 

Tyche  led  Octavian  through  side  streets,  crossing 
from  one  to  another  by  stepping  lightly  upon  stones 
which  connected  the  pavements,  and  between  which 


354 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

passed  the  car  wheels,  making  her  way  through  the 
labyrinth  with  the  readiness  that  comes  of  familiarity 
with  a  city.  Octavian  observed  that  he  was  traversing 
portions  of  Pompeii  which  had  not  yet  been  excavated, 
and  which  consequently  were  wholly  unknown  to  him. 
This  curious  circumstance,  amid  so  many  other  curious 
circumstances,  did  not  surprise  him.  He,  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  be  astonished  at  nothing.  In  all  this 
archaic  phantasmagoria,  which  would  have  driven  an 
archaeologist  crazy  with  delight,  he  saw  but  the  dark, 
deep  glance  of  Arria  Marcella,  and  her  splendid  bosom, 
triumphant  over  the  ages,  which  destruction  itself 
sought  to  preserve. 

They  reached  a  concealed  door,  that  opened  and 
immediately  closed,  and  Octavian  found  himself  in  a 
court  surrounded  by  Ionic  columns  of  Greek  marble, 
painted  half-way  up  a  bright  yellow,  the  capitals  picked 
out  with  red  and  blue  ornaments.  A  plant  of  aristolo- 
chia  hung  its  broad,  heart-shaped  leaves  from  the  cor- 
ners of  the  building,  like  a  natural  arabesque,  and  near 
a  basin  bordered  with  plants,  a  rose  flamingo  stood  on 
one  leg,  like  a  feather  flower  among  the  vegetable 
flowers.  Frescoed  panels,  representing  fanciful  build- 
ings or  landscapes,  adorned  the  walls.     Octavian  noted 


355 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


these  details  with  a  rapid  glance,  for  Tyche  handed 
him  over  to  the  slaves  who  attended  the  baths,  and 
who,  in  spite  of  his  impatience,  compelled  him  to 
undergo  all  the  refinements  of  the  baths  of  antiquity. 
After  having  passed  through  the  different  degrees  of 
vapourized  heat,  borne  with  the  scraper  of  the  rubber, 
and  had  poured  over  him  perfumes,  cosmetics,  and  oil, 
he  was  clothed  in  a  white  tunic,  and  at  the  farther  door 
found  Tyche,  who  took  his  hand  and  led  him  into 
another  richly  ornamented  room. 

On  the  ceiling  were  painted,  with  a  purity  of  draw- 
ing, a  brilliancy  of  colour,  and  a  freedom  of  touch  that 
marked  a  great  master  and  not  a  mere  decorator,  Mars, 
Venus,  and  Cupid  ;  a  frieze  composed  of  stags,  hares, 
and  birds,  playing  amid  foliage,  ran  around  the  room 
above  a  wainscotting  of  Cipoline  marble  ;  the  mosaic 
of  the  flooring,  a  wonderful  piece  of  work,  which  was 
perhaps  done  by  Sosimus  of  Pergamus,  represented  ban- 
queting meats  admirably  executed. 

At  the  back  of  the  room,  on  a  biclinium,  or  bed  for 
two  persons,  leaned  Arria  Marcella,  in  a  voluptuous, 
serene  pose  that  recalled  the  resting  woman  carved  by 
Phidias  on  the  front  of  the  Parthenon.  Her  pearl- 
embroidered  shoes  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  her 


356 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


lovely  bare  feet,  purer  than  white  marble,  showed  from 
under  a  light  linen  coverlet. 

Two  urns  shaped  like  balances,  with  a  pearl  in  each 
scale,  shimmered  in  the  light  by  her  pale  cheeks ;  a 
necklace  of  golden  balls,  from  which  hung  pear-shaped 
drops,  gleamed  upon  the  bosom  half  revealed  by  the 
careless  opening  of  a  straw-coloured  peplum,  bordered 
with  a  black  fret ;  a  gold  and  black  band  shone  in  her 
auburn  hair  ;  for  she  had  changed  her  dress  on  return- 
ing from  the  theatre,  and  round  her  arm,  like  the  asp 
round  Cleopatra's  arm,  was  a  golden  serpent,  with  eyes 
formed  of  precious  stones,  trying  to  bite  its  tail. 

A  small  table  supported  on  griffins'  feet,  and  inlaid 
with  mother-of-pearl,  silver,  and  ivory,  stood  by  the 
bed,  laden  with  various  dishes  served  in  gold  and  silver 
plate,  or  on  china  enamelled  with  precious  paintings. 
There  was  a  pheasant  with  its  feathers  on,  and  various 
fruits  that  ripen  at  different  seasons. 

There  was  every  indication  that  a  guest  was  expected. 
Fresh-cut  flowers  were  strewn  on  the  ground,  and  the 
amphorae  of  wine  were  plunged  in  urns  full  of  snow. 

Arria  Marcella  signed  to  Octavian  to  lie  down  by 
her  on  the  biclinium  and  to  share  the  meal.  The 
young  man,  half  crazed  with  surprise  and  love,  ate  a 


357 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

few  mouthfuls  from  the  dishes  held  out  to  him  by  little 
Asiatic  slaves  with  curly  hair  and  short  tunics.  Arria 
did  not  eat,  but  she  often  bore  to  her  lips  an  opalescent 
Myrrhine  cup  filled  with  a  dark  purple  wine,  like  coag- 
ulated blood.  As  she  drank,  from  her  heart,  which 
had  not  beat  for  so  many  years,  a  faint  rosy  flush  rose 
to  her  pale  cheeks,  but  her  bare  arm,  which  Octavian 
touched  as  he  raised  his  cup,  was  cold  as  a  serpent's 
skin  or  a  marble  tombstone. 

"  Oh,  when  you  stopped  at  the  Studj  to  look  at  the 
piece  of  hardened  clay  which  has  preserved  my  shape," 
said  Arria  Marcella,  as  she  cast  a  deep  moist  glance 
upon  Octavian,  "and  when  your  thought  rushed  ar- 
dently to  me,  my  soul  felt  it  in  the  world  in  which  I 
float,  invisible  to  material  eyes.  Belief  makes  a  god, 
and  love  makes  woman.  One  really  dies  only  when 
no  longer  loved.  Your  desire  has  restored  me  to  life  ; 
the  mighty  evocation  of.  your  heart  has  suppressed  the 
distance  which  separated  us." 

This  view  of  amorous  evocation,  expressed  by  the 
young  woman,  coincided  with  the  philosophical  belief 
of  Octavian,  —  a  belief  which  I  am  much  inclined  to 
share.  For,  in  truth,  nothing  dies ;  everything  goes  on 
existing.    No  power  can  annihilate  whatever  has  once 


358 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


been  created.  Every  act,  every  word,  every  shape, 
every  thought  which  has  fallen  into  the  universal  ocean 
of  things  makes  circles  which  go  on  broadening  to  the 
far  confines  of  eternity.  Material  configurations  dis- 
appear only  to  the  common  glance ;  their  spectres  peo- 
ple the  infinite.  Paris  still  carries  away  Helen  to  some 
unknown  region  of  bliss  ;  the  silken  sails  of  Cleopatra's 
galley  still  swell  on  some  blue  ideal  Cydnus.  Some 
passionate  minds,  endowed  with  a  powerful  will,  have 
succeeded  in  recalling  to  themselves  ages  apparently 
vanished,  and  have  revived  people  dead  to  others. 
Faust  had  the  daughter  of  Tyndarus  for  a  mistress,  and 
took  her  to  his  Gothic  castle  from  the  mysterious 
depths  of  Hades.  Octavian  had  just  lived  one  day  in 
the  reign  of  Titus,  and  had  made  himself  beloved  of 
Arria  Marcella,  who  was  lying  at  this  moment  by  him 
on  an  antique  bed,  in  a  city  that  for  every  one  else  was 
destroyed. 

"  By  the  disgust  other  women  inspire  me  with,"  said 
Octavian,  «  by  the  irresistible  thought  which  drew  me 
to  its  own  radiant,  types  in  the  depths  of  the  ages,  as 
towards  stars  calling  to  me,  I  understood  that  I  should 
never  love  save  outside  all  time  and  space.  You  are 
the  one  I  waited  for,  and  the  faint  trace  preserved  by 


359 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


man's  curiosity  placed  me  in  relation  with  your  soul 
through  secret  magnetism.  I  know  not  whether  you 
are  a  dream  or  a  reality,  a  phantom  or  a  woman ; 
whether,  like  Ixion,  I  am  clasping  a  cloud  to  my 
breast,  or  whether  I  am  the  plaything  of  a  sorcerer's 
foul  charm  ;  but  what  I  do  know  is  that  you  shall 
be  my  first  and  my  last  love." 

"  May  Eros,  son  of  Aphrodite,  hear  your  vow,"  said 
Arria  Marcella,  resting  her  head  upon  her  lover's 
shoulder,  as  he  drew  her  to  him  in  a  passionate  em- 
brace. "  Oh,  press  me  to  your  young  breast,  envelop 
me  with  your  warm  breath  ;  I  am  cold  from  having 
remained  so  long  without  love." 

And  Octavian  felt  that  beautiful  bosom,  the  mould 
of  which  he  had  that  very  morning  admired  through 
the  glass  of  a  case  in  the  Museum,  rising  and  falling 
against  his  breast.  He  felt  the  coolness  of  the  lovely 
flesh  through  his  tunic.  It  burned  him.  The  black 
and  gold  band  had  fallen  from  Arria's  head,  which  was 
thrown  back  in  a  passion  of  love,  and  her  hair  was 
spread  like  a  black  river  upon  the  blue  pillow. 

The  slaves  had  removed  the  table.  Naught  was 
heard  but  a  confused  sound  of  kisses  and  sighs.  The 
tame  quails,  heedless  of  this  amorous  scene,  were  chirp- 


360 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 

ing  and  picking  upon  the  mosaic  floor  the  remains 
of  the  feast. 

Suddenly  the  brazen  rings  of  the  portiere  that  closed 
the  room  slid  along  the  pole,  and  an  old  man  of  severe 
appearance,  robed  in  a  great  brown  mantle,  appeared 
on  the  threshold.  He  wore  his  gray  beard  in  two 
points,  like  the  Nazarenes.  His  face  appeared  wrin- 
kled by  fatigue  and  maceration  ;  a  small  cross  of  black 
wood  hung  round  his  neck,  leaving  no  doubt  as  to  his 
belief:  he  belonged  to  the  sect,  then  recently  estab- 
lished, of  the  disciples  of  Christ. 

At  sight  of  him  Arria  Marcella,  overwhelmed  with 
confusion,  concealed  her  face  in  a  fold  of  her  mantle, 
like  a  bird  that  conceals  its  head  under  its  wing  in  the 
presence  of  a  foe  it  cannot  avoid,  so  as  to  escape  at 
least  the  horror  of  seeing  it,  while  Octavian,  leaning 
on  his  elbow,  looked  fixedly  at  the  troublesome  indi- 
vidual who  had  thus  abruptly  broken  in  upon  his 
enjoyment. 

"  Arria,  Arria,"  said  the  austere  individual,  in  a  tone 
of  reproach,  "was  not  your  lifetime  sufficient  for  your 
dissipation,  and  must  your  infamous  loves  trespass  upon 
the  ages  which  do  not  belong  to  you?  Can  you  not 
leave  the  living  within  their  sphere  ?     Have  your  ashes 


361 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


not  cooled  since  the  day  you  died  unrepentant  under 
the  volcano's  rain  of  fire  ?  Have  two  thousand  years 
of  death  not  quieted  you,  and  do  your  greedy  arms 
still  draw  to  your  heartless  marble  bosom  the  poor  mad 
men  intoxicated  by  your  spells  ?  " 

"  Have  mercy  on  me,  father  Arrius ;  do  not  over- 
whelm me  in  the  name  of  that  morose  religion  which 
never  was  mine.  I  believe  in  our  old  gods,  who  loved 
life, youth,  beauty,  and  pleasure.  Do  not  plunge  me  back 
into  wan  nothingness;  let  me  enjoy  the  life  which  love 
has  restored  to  me." 

"Silence,  impious  one;  speak  not  of  your  gods  that 
are  but  fiends.  Let  go  that  man,  enchained  by  your 
impure  seductions ;  cease  attracting  him  outside  the 
circle  of  his  life  measured  out  by  God  ;  return  into  the 
limbo  of  paganism  with  your  Asiatic,  Roman,  and  Greek 
lovers.  Young  Christian,  do  thou  abandon  that  larva, 
which  would  seem  to  thee  more  hideous  than  the  Empusae 
and  Phorcydes,  if  thou  couldst  see  her  such  as  she  is." 

Octavian,  pale  and  frozen  with  horror,  strove  to 
speak,  but  his  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 

"  Will  you  obey,  Arria  ?  "  cried  the  tall  old  man, 
imperiously. 

"  Never,"  replied  Arria,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  nos- 


362 


 ARRIA  MARCELLA  

trils  dilated,  her  lips  quivering,  as  she  clasped  Octavian 
in  her  lovely  statue-like  arms,  cold,  hard,  and  rigid  like 
marble.  Her  proud  beauty,  exasperated  by  the  strug- 
gle, shone  with  supernal  brilliancy  at  this  supreme 
moment,  as  if  to  leave  to  her  young  lover  an  unforget- 
table remembrance. 

"  Well,  then,  evil  one,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  I  shall 
have  to  use  serious  measures  and  make  your  nothingness 
palpable  and  visible  to  that  fascinated  youth." 

Whereupon  he  uttered  in  a  voice  of  command  a 
formula  of  exorcism  that  drove  from  Arria's  cheeks  the 
rosy  tints  they  owed  to  the  black  wine  in  the  Myrrhine 
cup. 

At  that  moment  the  distant  bell  of  one  of  the  vil- 
lages on  the  seashore,  or  of  one  of  the  hamlets  nestling 
in  the  folds  of  the  mountain,  sounded  the  angelic 
Salutation. 

As  she  heard  it,  an  agonizing  sigh  broke  from  the 
young  woman.  Octavian  felt  the  arms  that  clasped 
him  grow  limp.  The  draperies  that  covered  her  fell 
back  of  themselves  as  if  the  contours  that  supported 
them  had  disappeared,  and  the  unfortunate  nocturnal 
wanderer  saw  by  his  side  on  the  festal  bed  nothing  bui 
a  handful  of  ashes  and  shapeless  remains  mingled  with 


363 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


calcined  bones,  among  which  gleamed  bracelets  and 
golden  jewels,  such  as  must  have  been  discovered  when 
the  house  of  Arrius  Diomedes  was  excavated.  —  He 
uttered  a  terrible  cry  and  swooned  away.  The  old 
man  had  disappeared,  the  sun  was  rising,  and  the  hall, 
so  brilliantly  adorned  but  a  moment  before,  was  now 
only  a  dismal  ruin. 

After  a  heavy  sleep  caused  by  the  libations  of  the 
evening  before,  Max  and  Fabio  awoke  with  a  start,  and 
their  first  thought  was  to  summon  their  companion, 
whose  room  was  near  theirs,  by  one  of  those  burlesque 
rallying-cries  which  young  fellows  sometimes  agree 
upon  when  travelling.  Octavian  did  not  reply,  for 
excellent  reasons.  Fabio  and  Max,  receiving  no  reply, 
entered  their  friend's  room,  and  perceived  that  he  had 
not  slept  in  his  bed  at  all.  "  He  must  have  been  un- 
able to  get  back  to  his  bed,  and  have  gone  to  sleep  in  a 
chair,"  said  Fabio,  "  for  he  has  not  a  very  strong  head, 
and  then  probably  went  out  early  to  work  off  the  fumes 
of  the  wine  in  the  morning  air." 

"He  had  not  drunk  very  much,"  added  Max,  reflect- 
ively. "  This  seems  rather  strange  to  me.  Let 's  go 
and  find  him." 


364 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


The  two  friends,  with  the  assistance  of  the  guide, 
traversed  every  street,  every  lane,  every  square  and 
place  in  Pompeii ;  entered  every  curious  house  in 
which  they  fancied  Octavian  might  be  copying  a  paint- 
ing or  an  inscription,  and  finally  found  him  senseless 
on  the  disjoined  mosaics  of  a  small  half-ruinous  room. 
They  brought  him  to  his  senses  with  much  difficulty. 
When  he  had  come  to  himself,  he  gave  no  other  ex- 
planation save  that  the  fancy  had  occurred  to  him  of 
seeing  Pompeii  by  moonlight,  and  that  he  had  been 
seized  with  a  fit  that  would  probably  have  no  ill 
results. 

The  little  company  returned  to  Naples  by  railway 
as  they  had  come,  and  that  evening,  in  their  box  at 
San  Carlo,  Max  and  Fabio  watched  through  their 
glasses  a  band  of  nymphs  skipping  around  in  a  ballet, 
supporting  Ammalia  Ferraris,  the  then  popular  dancer, 
and  who  wore  under  their  gauze  skirts  hideous  drawers 
of  a  monstrous  green,  that  made  them  look  like  frogs 
stung  by  a  tarantula.  Octavian,  pale,  his  eyes  dim, 
with  a  look  of  weariness  on  his  face,  did  not  seem  to 
notice  what  was  going  on  on  the  stage,  so  difficult  was 
it  for  him,  after  the  marvellous  adventure  of  the  night, 
to  re-enter  into  the  feeling  of  real  life. 


365 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


From  that  day  Octavian  became  the  victim  of  a 
sombre  melancholy  which  the  high  spirits  and  jokes  of 
his  companions  increased  rather  than  relieved.  The 
image  of  Arria  Marcella  pursued  him  constantly,  and 
the  sad  ending  of  his  fantastic  love  affair  did  not  destroy 
its  charms.  Unable  to  resist  the  desire,  he  returned 
secretly  to  Pompeii,  and  again,  as  on  the  former  occa- 
sion, walked  through  the  ruins  by  moonlight,  his  heart 
rilled  with  insensate  hope ;  but  the  hallucination  was 
not  renewed.  He  saw  only  the  lizards  fleeing  over  the 
stones,  and  heard  only  the  calls  of  the  terrified  night- 
birds.  He  did  not  meet  his  friend  Rufus  Holconius  ; 
Tyche's  slender  hand  did  not  rest  on  his  arm  j  and 
Arria  Marcella  obstinately  remained  dust. 

As  a  last  resort  Octavian  recently  married  a  young 
and  lovely  English  girl,  who  is  madly  in  love  with  him. 
He  has  turned  out  a  perfect  husband,  and  yet  Helen, 
with  that  secret  instinct  of  the  heart  that  cannot  be  de- 
ceived, feels  that  her  husband  is  in  love  with  some  one 
else  —  but  with  whom  ?  The  most  active  spying  has 
failed  to  give  her  any  information.  Octavian  does  not 
keep  a  ballet-girl,  and  in  society  he  pays  ladies  merely 
commonplace  compliments.  He  even  received  very 
coolly  the  marked  advances  of  a  Russian  princess,  fa- 


366 


ARRIA  MARCELLA 


mous  for  her  beauty  and  her  coquetry.  A  secret  drawer, 
which  the  suspicious  Helen  opened  during  her  husband's 
absence,  furnished  no  proof  of  infidelity.  But  then  it 
would  never  have  occurred  to  her  to  be  jealous  of  Arria 
Marcella,  daughter  of  Arrius  Diomedes,  a  freedman  of 
Tiberius. 


367 


4*  *4*  *b  rj^  ♦!»  »A»  tt*     ri-»     ^^^^*^*§* •£••§* 2§*;§*;§*  jbsj? 


Contents 

INTRODUCTION     ........  3 

THE  QUARTETTE                              .  «  13 

THE  MUMMY'S  FOOT       ....  "325 


THE  QUARTETTE 
Introduction 

IT  is  probably  impossible  for  the  present  genera- 
tion of  Europeans,  and  certainly  for  Ameri- 
cans, to  understand  the  passionate  devotion  felt 
by  Frenchmen,  towards  the  latter  part  of  the 
first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  for  the  great 
Napoleon.  While  it  is  true  that  millions  of  the 
French  had  breathed  easier  when  he  fell  at  Waterloo, 
and  the  end  of  the  long  years  of  war  that  had  sent 
the  best,  the  flower,  of  French  youth  to  fall  on  foreign 
and  home  battle-fields  had  come,  there  occurred  before 
long  a  tremendous  reaction  in  favour  of  the  Emperor. 
Several  causes  contributed  to  this  :  in  the  first  place, 
the  victory  of  Waterloo  brought  in  its  train  invasion 
and  armed  occupancy  of  the  territory ;  then  the 
Bourbons,  restored  by  foreign  arms,  exhibited  the 
most  absolute  unintelligence  of  the  changed  condi- 
tions of  the  country  and  of  society ;  further,  the 
exile  of  the  fallen  Emperor  to  Saint  Helena,  while 


3 


tlbdfer^?  ^    ^b*  «1?  ^b  cb  ti^  tfc  tl?  tb  tb  tb  ti?  tir    ti?  Tx? 

THE  QUARTETTE 


quite  justified  by  considerations  of  policy  and  human- 
ity, aroused  the  deepest  irritation  in  every  French 
breast  that  still  conserved  the  feeling  of  national  pride 
and  devotion  to  the  man  who  had  so  long  incarnated 
the  military  glory  of  a  people  ever  fond  of  war  and 
signally  victorious  on  so  many  different  fields  and  in 
so  many  diverse  countries.  These  feelings  became  all 
the  stronger  as  time  passed  and  the  recollections  of 
the  fearful  sufferings  that  Napoleon  had  caused  passed 
away,  as  all  such  recollections  will  pass.  There  then 
sprang  up  a  Napoleonic  legend,  to  which  poets,  his- 
torians, dramatists,  painters,  singers,  politicians  all  con- 
tributed in  turns  or  together.  Napoleon  became  the 
incarnation  of  triumphant  France,  and  men  recalled 
with  swelling  breasts  that  under  him  the  nation  had 
dictated  terms  of  peace  to  the  sovereigns  of  Europe 
in  the  capital  of  each  of  them.  The  glorious  epic 
of  so  many  years'  duration  excited  and  inflamed  all 
imaginations,  and  the  genuineness  of  the  sufferings 
of  the  illustrious  captive  lent  an  additional  glamour 
to  the  memory  of  him  that  was  so  sedulously  culti- 
vated. Beranger's  songs  were  on  all  lips;  Hugo, 
who,  in  his  first  poems,  had  heaped  obloquy  upon 
"  the  tyrant,"  changed  his  views  and  ere  long  became 


4 


4;  4;  4;  4;  4;  £  4»  4;  4;  4j  4*  4. 4. 4. 4. 4. 4;  4. 4*  4*  4*  £  dbtfc 

INTRODUCTION 


an  almost  fanatical  worshipper  of  the  great  warrior. 
The  tide  set  more  and  more  strongly  in  favour  of 
the  lost  leader,  and  the  French  were  ready  to  acclaim 
again  any  one  bearing  the  name  of  Napoleon,  —  a 
name  that  was  indeed  one  to  conjure  with,  as  was 
shortly  afterwards  proved. 

When  Louis-Philippe  obtained  leave  to  bring  back 
to  France  the  ashes  of  the  dead  Emperor,  and  sent  the 
Prince  de  Joinville  with  a  frigate  to  Saint  Helena,  the 
whole  of  France  was  in  an  indescribable  state  of  fer- 
ment and  excitement.  The  translation  of  the  remains 
from  the  lone  islet  in  the  Atlantic  to  the  superb  rest- 
ing-place prepared  for  them  under  the  Dome  of  the 
Invalides  on  the  Champ  de  Mars,  was  the  signal  for 
an  outburst  of  patriotic  and  military  fervour  that  has 
perhaps  never  been  equalled,  and  certainly  never  sur- 
passed in  France.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that 
Victor  Hugo  wrote  his  magnificent  "  The  Return  of 
the  Emperor,"  three  stanzas  from  which  may  here 
be  quoted,  as  expressing  the  very  thoughts  that  led 
Gautier  to  the  selection  of  the  theme  he  has  devel- 
oped in  "  The  Quartette,"  and  which  will,  therefore 
make  the  meaning  of  the  tale  plainer  to  the  modern 
reader :  — 


5 


THE  QUARTETTE 

"  Saint  Helena  !  —  O  lesson  !  O  fall  !  Warning  !  Agony  ! 
England,  her  hate  to  satisfy  her  whole  genius  using, 
In  open  day  the  great  man  'gan  to  devour  ; 
And  once  again  men  beheld  the  Homeric  sight : 
The  fetters,  the  rock  burned  by  scorching  Afric  sun, 
The  Titan,  —  and  the  vulture  ! 

"But  now  these  tortures,  that  mighty  sorrow, 
The  Punic  rage,  the  rancour  implacable 
That  made  the  Great  Crucified  bleed, 
Th'  affronts  that  smote  every  soul  of  pride, 
Like  deep  vase  wherein  pours  a  fountain's  stream, 
Slowly  the  whole  world  with  pity  filled. 

'*  Pity  from  noble  hearts  springing  !  Cry  of  the  wide  world  ! 
These  angered  thee  in  thy  shadow,  thou  British  gaoler  ! 
For  admiration,  with  its  sov'ran  flame, 
Hardens  vile  man  and  softens  great  souls. 
Alas !  when  weeps  the  brave,  the  coward  laughs  ;  for  fire 
The  mud  doth  dry,  but  melteth  bronze." 

Gautier  started  to  write  a  sort  of  historical  novel, 
with  just  enough  history  in  it  to  account  for  the  choice 
of  the  subject  and  to  interest  the  French  reader  ;  for 
the  tale  was  intended  for  home  consumption,  or  at  most 
for  perusal  by  the  foes  of  England,  who  would  willingly 
enjoy  abuse  of  the  country  that  had  saved  Europe  and 
whose  crowning  triumph  at  Waterloo  had  not  been 


6 


INTRODUCTION 


altogether  palatable  even  to  the  enemies  of  Napoleon. 
Chauvinism,  as  the  French  term  it,  jingoism,  as  the 
modern  term  is,  was  as  rampant  in  1848  as  at  the 
present  day,  and  the  author  who  dexterously  appealed 
to  it  was  sure  of  a  large  audience  and  of  a  ready  sale 
for  his  works. 

But  Gautier,  while  sufficiently  chauvinistic  in  this 
story  to  satisfy  all  but  the  most  exacting  fanatics  of 
Napoleonism,  introduced  a  clever  variation  of  the 
theme  in  making  the  attempted  rescue  of  the  illustri- 
ous captive  the  work  of  Englishmen  instead  of  French- 
men. By  doing  this,  he  laid  heavier  condemnation 
upon  England  herself,  since  he  showed,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  the  readers  of  la  Presse,  at  least,  that  even  in 
perfidious  Albion  there  were  men  as  devoted  admirers 
of  the  Little  Corporal  as  any  that  could  be  found 
within  the  confines  of  fair  France.  This  clever 
artifice,  for  it  is  scarcely  more,  enabled  Gautier  to 
indulge  safely  in  the  most  extraordinary  representation 
of  English  life  and  manners,  which  no  one  can  read 
at  the  present  day  without  a  smile.  But  his  object 
was,  not  to  represent  the  manners  and  customs  of  a 
land  he  knew  but  slightly,  —  for  his  trips  to  London 
had  not  been  devoted  to  a  serious  observation  of  the 


7 


THE  QUARTETTE 

people,  —  it  was  to  write  a  dramatically  interesting 
story  that  should  move  deeply  the  public  to  which 
it  was  addressed  ;  a  public  that  devoured  it  greedily, 
since  it  flattered  its  vanity,  and  justified  its  admiration 
for  Napoleon  and  its  hatred  for  Sir  Hudson  Lowe. 

Neither  probability,  therefore,  nor  an  accurate  pic- 
ture of  English  life  and  ways  is  to  be  looked  for  in  this 
story,  which  is  more  in  the  style  of  Balzac's  famous 
"  History  of  the  Thirteen  "  than  in  that  of  the  mod- 
ern historical  novel.  Most  probably  Gautier  was 
inspired  both  by  that  celebrated  work  and  by  his  own 
recollections  of  the  Society  of  the  Red  Horse,  of 
which  he  has  given  an  account  in  his  study  on  Balzac, 
and  of  which  he  was  himself  a  member.  Indeed, 
his  description  of  the  junta  to  which  de  Volmerange, 
Arundel,  Daksha,  and  the  other  prominent  characters 
belonged,  recalls  at  once  both  the  formidable  associa- 
tion of  which  Ferragus  was  the  head,  and  the  less 
redoubtable  Red  Horse.  The  adventures  of  the  per- 
sonages, the  breaking  of  the  matches  at  the  very 
church  door  and  in  the  nuptial  chamber,  the  mys- 
terious brig,  the  underground  passage  to  the  Thames, 
the  Indian  mutinv,  the  conspiracy  for  the  liberation 
of  Napoleon  and  the  setting  of  the  Emperor  on  the 


8 


INTRODUCTION 


throne  of  India,  recall  constantly  the  somewhat  gran- 
diloquent schemes  that  Balzac  is  fond  of  ascribing 
to  the  men  he  sets  moving  in  his  vast  "  Comedie 
humaine." 

But  if  the  reader  is  willing  to  take  things  for 
granted,  and  to  allow  Gautier  to  have  his  own  way, 
he  is  sure  to  enjoy  the  extraordinary  adventures  and 
the  astounding  complications  which  the  author  has 
evolved  for  his  entertainment.  In  other  words,  the 
book  is  not  to  be  taken  seriously  as  an  attempt  to 
produce  a  true  historical  novel,  but  merely  as  a  bril- 
liant emanation  of  the  author's  imagination. 

"  The  Quartette "  appeared  in  the  columns  of  la 
Presse,  from  September  20  to  October  15,  1848,  the 
very  year  in  which  Louis-Philippe  was  being  driven 
from  the  throne,  to  be  succeeded  by  Louis  Napoleon, 
first  as  President  of  the  French  Republic,  and  then  as 
Emperor  of  the  French.  It  was  published  in  book 
form  in  1851. 


9 


The  Quartette 


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THE  QUJRTETTE 

************************ 
I 

THE  pale  November  dawn,  not  yet  very 
wide-awake,  was  rubbing  its  eyes  behind 
a  curtain  of  gray  clouds,  and  already  the 
worthy  innkeeper  Geordie  was  standing 
at  the  door  of  his  hostel,  his  arms  crossed  as  far  as  he 
could  over  a  vast  paunch  that  testified  most  eloquently 
to  the  excellence  of  the  cookery  at  the  Red  Lion. 
He  had  the  perfectly  satisfied  air  of  an  innkeeper  who, 
being  the  only  one  in  the  place,  feels  that  he  is  mas- 
ter of  the  situation  and  is  not  afraid  that  travellers  will 
escape  him  ;  for  at  that  time  the  Red  Lion  was  the 
only  inn  in  Folkestone. 

At  the  time  of  the  story  we  are  about  to  relate, 
Folkestone  was  a  little  village,  the  yellow  brick  and 
timbered  houses  of  which  rose  irregularly  on  the  slope 
that  leads  from  the  summit  of  the  cliff  to  the  sea. 
Geordie's  house  was  one  of  the  handsomest,  if  not  the 
handsomest,  in  the  place.    At  the  corner  of  the  build- 


3 


THE  QUARTETTE 


ing,  at  the  end  of  an  elegantly  twisted  iron  volute, 
swung  in  the  sea-breeze  a  red  lion  of  tin,  the  paint  on 
which,  owing  to  the  salt  mists  of  the  ocean,  had  to  be 
frequently  renewed.  This  having  been  recently  done, 
the  sign  glowed  as  brightly  as  a  lion  gules  on  a  field  or 
in  a  manual  of  heraldry. 

Geordie  was  thinking,  but  his  thoughts  were  in  no 
wise  poetical.  He  was  calculating  in  his  own  mind 
the  profits  of  the  preceding  months.  Geordie  rea- 
soned that  if  the  increase  kept  up,  he  might  in  a  short 
time  purchase  the  piece  of  ground  which  he  coveted 
and  which  cut  so  unpleasantly  into  his  own  land. 

He  had  just  got  to  this  point,  when  a  grim-looking 
individual  who  had  been  standing  before  him  for  a  few 
moments  past  and  whom  he  had  not  observed,  owing  to 
his  preoccupation,  apparently  thinking  that  there  was 
no  other  way  of  being  noticed,  slapped  him  on  the 
stomach  in  the  way  that  thin,  bony  men  like  to  do  to 
stout  men,  either  through  irony  or  facetiousness. 

Angered  by  this  familiarity  in  very  bad  taste,  which 
was  peculiarly  disagreeable  to  him  and  which  he 
scarcely  put  up  with  from  his  intimate  friends  and  his 
rich  customers,  Geordie  sprang  backwards  with  remark- 
able agility  for  a  man  of  his  size,  and  seeing  that  his 


14 


THE  QUARTETTE 


aggressor  was  dressed  in  a  way  that  did  not  betoken 
wealth,  he  mentally  reasoned  thus  :  "  This  fellow  will 
at  most  eat  a  slice  of  beef  and  drink  a  pint  of  half-and- 
half  and  a  glass  of  whiskey,  and  yet  he  is  as  insolent  as 
a  nobleman  who  has  for  supper  a  fine  pullet  washed 
down  with  claret  and  champagne.  I  do  not  risk 
losing  more  than  a  shilling  and  a  few  pence  by  speak- 
ing plainly  to  him." 

"  Well,  you  brute,  you  fool,  you  ass,  you  ill-bred 
dolt  !  "  cried  Geordie,  after  the  mental  reasoning  which 
I  have  just  transcribed.  "  Is  that  the  way  to  enter 
into  conversation  with  well-bred  people  ?  I  am  sorry 
for  those  who  brought  you  up." 

"  Don't  get  excited,  my  stout  friend.  Could  I  go 
on  standing  before  you,  stuck  like  a  post,  until  the 
Day  of  Judgment  ?  I  coughed  three  times  and  twice 
called  you  by  your  name,  Master  Geordie;  yet  you 
moved  no  more  than  a  hogshead.  I  had  to  make 
you  feel  my  presence,"  answered  in  a  sarcastic  tone 
free  from  fear  and  repentance  the  individual  who  had 
just  slapped  the  FalstafF-like  paunch  of  the  worthy 
innkeeper. 

"You  might  have  drawn  attention  to  yourself  in  a 
more  delicate  way,"  returned  Master  Geordie,  in  a  still 


15 


THE  QUARTETTE 

indignant  tone,  to  which,  however,  the  firm  speech  and 
assured  glance  of  the  stranger  had  already  imparted  a 
more  timid  inflection. 

"  Come,  you  hospitable  elephant,  clear  your  own 
door  if  I  am  to  pass  and  enter  the  coffee-room  of  the 
Red  Lion  inn,  the  best  one  in  Folkestone." 

Master  Geordie,  who  was  well  acquainted  with 
humankind  and  with  the  pitiful  look  which  the  con- 
sciousness of  an  empty  purse  brings  to  a  face,  judged 
from  the  coolness  of  the  stranger  and  the  freedom  of 
his  manners  that,  notwithstanding  his  modest  dress,  he 
was  probably  fairly  well  off  and  would  call  for  a 
bottle  of  French  wine,  or  at  least  a  cup  of  Canary 
sack;  so,  temporarily  sacrificing  his  dignity,  he  drew 
back  as  well  as  he  could  and  allowed  his  aggressor  to 
enter  the  house. 

The  coffee-room  of  the  Red  Lion,  lighted  by  four 
windows,  the  sashes  of  which  hung  on  counterweights, 
and  which  have  been  called  guillotines  since  the  inven- 
tion of  that  philanthropic  instrument,  was  divided  into 
several  wooden  boxes  not  unlike  private  rooms  and 
recalling  the  shape  and  arrangement  of  loose  boxes  in 
stables  :  for  an  Englishman  is  so  fond  of  being  alone 
that  he  feels  uncomfortable  in  the  sight  of  his  kind, 

16 


££££££££££££££££££££££££ 

THE  QUARTETTE 

and  has  to  establish  a  separation,  a  sort  of  home  for 
himself,  even  on  the  neutral  ground  of  the  common 
room  in  a  tavern.  Between  the  two  rows  of  boxes 
ran  a  passage  powdered  with  fine  yellow  sand,  leading 
to  a  splendid  mahogany  counter  inlaid  with  brass 
ornaments,  on  which  shone  rows  of  pewters  and  jugs 
with  polished  metal  covers  that  gleamed  like  silver. 
Behind  the  counter  was  a  narrow  mirror  in  a  wooden 
frame,  and  within  reach  of  the  hostess's  hand  a  number 
of  faucets  at  the  end  of  pipes  that  led  into  as  many 
barrels  of  ale  and  other  liquids  in  the  cellar.  A  few 
engravings  of  Hogarth's  framed  in  black,  and  depict- 
ing the  disadvantages  of  some  vice  or  another, —  not 
that  of  drunkenness,  —  completed  the  decoration  of 
this  part  of  the  room,  which  was,  as  it  were,  the  altar 
and  sanctuary  of  the  house. 

Geordie  went  up  to  the  counter,  followed  by  his 
guest,  who  did  not  appear  dazzled  by  the  splendour  of 
the  place,  and  put  to  him,  in  a  tone  which  the  habit 
of  flattering  clients  seemed  to  make  more  markedly 
obsequious  than  he  intended,  the  usual  question, 
"  What  will  your  honour  take  ?  " 

"  A  post-chaise  and  four,"  answered  the  man,  in  the 
quietest,  most  careless  way  possible. 

1  17 


db  tsT    tl»  *^*       rj?  tj?  tl?  db  tl?  j?  tI?    4?  *T?tl? 

THE  QUARTETTE 

At  this  unexpected  reply  the  owner  of  the  Red  Lion 
assumed  a  supremely  disdainful  attitude.  He  drew  him- 
self up,  threw  back  his  head  and  said  :  — 

"  Sir,  I  do  not  like  practical  jokes  any  more  than 
practical  jokers.  You  have  already  slapped  me  in  a 
way  that  I  do  not  care  to  characterise  beyond  saying 
that  '  familiar  '  and  '  indecent '  do  not  seem  to  me  too 
strong.  Notwithstanding  this  discourteous  action  of 
yours,  I  have  allowed  you  to  enter  this  inn  of  the  Red 
Lion,  known,  I  venture  to  say,  the  world  over  ;  I  have 
brought  you  to  this  counter  where  are  sold  refreshing, 
tonic,  or  spirituous  drinks,  as  people  may  prefer ;  I  ask 
you  politely  what  your  honour  will  take,  and  you 
answer  nonsense.  4  A  post-chaise  and  four '  is  a  reply 
which  in  no  wise  fits  in  with  my  question,  and  shows 
a  formal  intention  on  your  part  to  insult  me." 

"Not  so  fast,  Master  Geordie.  You  talk  too  much. 
Do  not  get  so  heated.  Just  now  you  were  merely 
crimson,  now  you  have  become  purple,  and  you  will 
soon  turn  blue.  Be  calm.  I  have  never  had  the  least 
intention  of  offending  so  respectable  an  individual  as 
you  appear  to  be.  I  am  quite  serious.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  need  a  carriage,  —  landau,  victoria,  post-chaise, 
I  don't  care  what  it  is,  provided  it  is  strong  and  runs 

^8 


4: 4. 4,  4,  4-  4,  4.  4,  4-  4,  4: 4.  4; 4; 4; 4,  4, 4,  £  £  4.  4. 4; 4. 

THE  QUARTETTE 

easily.  With  the  carriage  I  need  horses,  and  as  I  like 
to  travel  fast,  I  called  for  four,  and  of  the  best  which 
have  eaten  oats  in  your  stables.  There  is  nothing 
very  surprising  in  that." 

The  logic  of  this  reasoning  struck  Master  Geordie 
as  plausible  enough,  although  the  dress  and  appearance 
of  his  customer  still  inspired  him  with  a  mistrust,  which 
the  latter  no  doubt  suspected,  for  he  plunged  his  hand 
in  one  of  his  pockets  and  drew  out  a  fairly  large  bag, 
which  he  threw  into  the  air.  As  it  fell  it  gave  out  a 
metallic  sound  which,  to  the  practised  ear  of  Geordie, 
revealed  the  perfect  harmonv  of  guineas  and  sovereigns, 
without  any  discord  of  silver  or  copper  money.  The 
innkeeper,  who  until  now  had  kept  on  his  cap, 
took  it  off  and  twisted  it  in  his  hands  somewhat 
shamefacedly,  for  he  was  rather  troubled  by  the  plain 
speech  he  had  used  to  a  man  with  so  well-filled  a 
purse  ;  but  who  could  have  suspected  that  a  traveller 
whose  dress  was  of  common  stuff  and  vulgar  cut  was 
so  well  off? 

"  For  how  many  of  these  round  yellow  coins  do  you 
propose  to  exchange  one  of  your  vehicles  ?  "  said  the 
stranger, — whom  I  shall  call  Jack  or  John,  for  the 
purpose  of  my  story  ;  for,  being  an  Englishman,  he  was 


r9 


£  :b i:  &  db- 4?  ±  & dbdbsbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdb  & dbtfe 
 THE  QUARTETTE  

bound  to  be  called  by  one  or  the  other  of  these  names, 

—  as  he  spread  a  large  number  of  coins  in  a  semicircle 
on  the  table. 

"  I  could  sell  you  cheap  the  two-seated  chaise,  but 
it  has  a  broken  wheel  and  it  would  take  some  time  to 
mend  it  ;  or  the  landau,  if  the  rear  spring  were  not 
broken,"  said  the  hotel-keeper,  rubbing  his  nose  with 
his  finger,  while  with  the  other  hand  he  held  his  elbow, 

—  an  attitude  which  at  all  times  sculptors  and  painters 
have  used  to  express  perplexed  meditation. 

"Why,"  said  Jack,  "instead  of  these  horrible, 
broken-down  traps,  do  you  not  at  once  propose  to  let 
me  have  your  olive-green  double-seated  travelling- 
carriage  lined  with  Lincoln-cloth,  and  provided  with 
such  beautiful  silk  blinds  ?  " 

"  My  olive-green  travelling-carriage,  which  cost  me 
so  much  ? "  cried  Geordie,  terrified  at  the  proposal. 
"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  " 

"  I  am  thinking  of  the  carriage.  The  price  is  but 
a  small  matter.  If  I  pay  more  for  it  than  you  did, 
you  will  no  doubt  consent  to  part  with  it  ?  "  And  as 
he  said  these  words,  Jack,  with  a  very  lordly  look,  care- 
lessly let  fall  by  the  other  pieces  a  dozen  guineas  more, 
so  as  to  almost  close  the  circle  of  gold. 


20 


 THE   Q  U  A  R  T  E  T  T  E  

"  He  must  be  a  nobleman  in  disguise,"  said  the 
innkeeper  to  himself,  as  he  nodded  in  acquiescence 
to  the  peremptory  request  of  Jack.  "  No  doubt  on 
these  terms  I  would  agree  to  part  with  it,"  he  con- 
tinued aloud  ;  "  and  when  does  vour  honour  need  the 
carriage  ?  " 

"At  once.  Tell  the  postilion  to  dress  and  have  the 
horses  put  to  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  Two  minutes  to  bring  out  the  carriage  from  the 
carriage-house,  ten  minutes  to  harness  the  horses  and 
put  them  to,  —  that  is  twelve;  three  for  Little  John  to 
put  on  his  jacket,  get  into  his  boots  and  put  a  new  lash 
to  his  whip;  —  that  makes  fifteen  minutes,  by  which 
time  you  will  be  driving  along  at  the  best  speed  in  the 
world." 

"  Fifteen  minutes  and  not  one  more,"  said  Jack,  as 
he  drew  from  his  fob  a  big  silver  watch,  "  or  for  every 
minute  you  are  late,  I  shall  administer  to  your  precious 
corporation  one  of  those  slaps  which  put  you  in  such  a 
temper." 

In  order  to  avoid  this  unpleasantness,  Master  Geordie 
hurried  out  and  gave  the  necessary  orders.  Then  he 
returned,  and  with  his  long  habit  of  urging  customers  to 
drink,  asked  Jack  whether  he  would  not  take  some- 


21 


THE  QUARTETTE 

thing  while  the  carriage  was  being  got  ready.  "  Would 
your  honour  like  a  glass  of  sherry,  or  port,  or  arrack 
punch  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  Master  Geordie.  Not  that  I 
doubt  the  excellence  of  your  cellar  and  your  skilfulness 
as  a  mixer  of  drinks." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  belong  to  a  temperance  society  ?  " 
asked  the  innkeeper,  astonished  at  such  sobriety. 

"  I  am  not  enough  of  a  drunkard  for  that,"  an- 
swered Jack,  laughing,  "  nor  do  I  need  to  listen  to 
Father  Matthew's  sermons,  but  I  promised  myself 
not  to  drink  to-day." 

"  A  papist,  no  doubt,"  murmured  Geordie  to  him- 
self, such  a  promise  seeming  to  him  even  more  impru- 
dent than  Jephthah's  vow.  "  Well,  I  shall  drink  this 
glass  to  your  health,"  added  Geordie,  very  much 
grieved  at  the  thought  that  his  customer  would  not 
pledge  him  in  return. 

"  I  can  watch  a  man  drink  without  breaking  my 
word,"  said  Jack,  "  and  indeed  it  is  the  more  merito- 
rious on  my  part,  since  I  resist  temptation  ;  your  wine 
looks  so  good." 

"  Real  liquid  ruby,  sir,  and  what  a  bouquet!  Spring- 
time violets  have  not  a  more  exquisite  scent,"  said  the 


22 


THE  QUARTETTE 


innkeeper,  melting  into  poetry  and  putting  his  glass 
under  Jack's  nose. 

Jack  breathed  in  the  aroma  of  the  wine  with  a  deep 
inspiration,  followed  by  an  expiration  that  sounded  like 
a  sigh.  It  seemed  as  though  he  would  give  way 
before  a  wine  the  merits  of  which  he  appreciated  so 
thoroughly ;  so  Geordie  put  the  neck  of  the  bottle  over 
the  edge  of  the  other  glass  ;  but  Jack  was  a  man  of 
character  and  firm  will.  He  recovered  himself  at  once 
and  putting  before  the  eyes  of  the  innkeeper  his  watch, 
which  pointed  to  fourteen  and  a  half  minutes,  he  out- 
stretched his  big  hand,  the  shape  of  a  mutton-ham, 
with  an  air  of  sarcastic  threat. 

"  There  are  thirty  seconds  left,"  cried  Geordie,  try- 
ing to  change  the  convex  line  of  his  paunch  into  a 
concave  line,  —  a  difficult  and  indeed  impossible  feat. 

The  watch  was  just  about  to  the  mark  the  fifteenth 
minute,  and  the  pitiless  Jack  was  balancing  his  hand  to 
give  it  more  swing,  while  Geordie  was  defending  his 
corporation  by  crossing  his  arms  in  a  more  compli- 
cated way  than  chaste  Venus,  when  fortunately  the 
crack  of  Little  John's  whip  and  the  sound  of  the 
olive-green  carriage  emerging  from  the  yard  put  an 
end  to  the  embarrassing  and  pathetic  situation. 


23 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Jack  let  fall  his  hand  and  Geordie  drew  himself  up 
again.  "  I  said  fifteen  minutes,"  he  exclaimed  with 
the  intoxication  of  satisfied  punctuality. 

"•Your  paunch  has  had  a  narrow  escape  of  it," 
said  Jack  as  he  got  into  the  carriage  and  sat  down 
without  the  least  hesitation  upon  the  cloth  cushions 
of  Lincoln-green. 

u  Which  way,  sir?"  asked  the  postilion. 

"  First,  out  of  the  village,  and  then  I  shall  tell  you 
the  road  you  are  to  take,"  answered  Jack,  who  no 
doubt  did  not  care  to  let  Master  Geordie  and  the  few 
idlers  who  had  drawn  together  to  witness  the  depart- 
ure of  the  carriage  know  the  real  object  of  his  trip. 

After  the  village  had  been  left  behind,  Little  John, 
turning  round,  said  to  Jack,  "  Shall  I  take  the  London 
road,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lad,"  replied  Jack ;  "  drive  along  the 
shore  until  I  tell  you  to  stop." 

Little  John,  somewhat  astonished,  drove  in  that 
direction,  without,  however,  manifesting  any  surprise, 
for  Master  Jack,  although  facetious  at  times,  had,  it 
must  be  confessed,  a  very  terrifying  aspect.  "  No 
doubt,"  said  Little  John  to  himself,  "  it  is  a  run-away 
match  with  some  young  lady,  who,  coming  from  a 


^4 


dj*  *|*     r£|«  »4*  db     "Jr?  m£  ^j?  *j?  "j??*!?  Tt^^tT  Tr?  Tt?  Tt?  xTTvT^J?  «8r«t»«i» 

THE  QUARTETTE 

house,  will  pretend  to  look  at  the  sea  and  sketch  the 
landscape,  and  then  leap  into  the  carriage.  I  rather 
like  elopements,  for  lovers  who  feel  that  they  have  got 
parents  or  guardians  at  their  heels  generally  pay  very 
handsomely.  And  yet  this  fellow  does  not  look  like  a 
lover." 

They  drove  for  some  miles  along  the  shore,  on 
which  the  sea  was  breaking  in  regular  waves  and 
dragging  down  the  pebbles  polished  by  slow  wear. 
Not  far  from  the  highest  steep  of  the  cliff  which 
overlooks  the  ocean,  Jack  cried,  "  Stop ! "  without 
any  apparent  reason,  for  nowhere  around  could  be 
seen  a  house,  a  farm,  a  manor,  or  a  road. 

Jack  left  the  carriage  and  walked  towards  the  cliff, 
which  he  ascended  as  easily  as  would  a  cat,  a  sailor,  or 
a  smuggler,  helping  himself  by  the  smallest  projections, 
clutching  the  clumps  of  fennel  and  broom  which  hung 
here  and  there  from  the  rough  chin  of  the  rock.  He 
soon  reached  the  top,  followed  by  the  amazed  glance 
of  Little  John,  who  had  not  supposed  it  possible  to  get 
there  without  a  ladder  or  ropes. 

When  Jack  reached  the  top,  a  man  who  was  lying 
on  his  stomach  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  be  seen 
from  below,  and  who  was  looking  through  a  telescope 


25 


THE  QUARTETTE 

towards  the  open  sea,  raised  his  head  and  said  :  "  Ah  ! 
is  that  you,  Jack  ?     Is  the  carriage  ready  ?  " 
"  Yes,  and  with  four  horses." 

"  That  is  right.  The  vessel  is  in  sight.  I  can  tell 
it  by  the  red-and-white  pennant  which  is  the  signal 
agreed  upon  between  us." 

Even  with  the  naked  eye  might  be  seen  on  the 
horizon,  where  the  Channel  opened  out  into  the 
ocean,  a  small  white  sail  like  a  feather  fallen  from  a 
swan's  wing  upon  the  blue  water. 

"  She  has  to  beat  to  windward  just  now,  but  as  soon 
as  she  can  free  her  sheets,  she  will  fly  over  the  waters 
like  a  gull,"  continued  the  man  lying  down,  still  look- 
ing through  the  telescope.  "The  wind  is  southwest, 
—  just  what  we  want,  and  as  good  as  if  we  had  bought 
it  from  a  witch." 

Stretching  himself  out  by  his  companion,  Jack  took 
the  telescope  and  looked  at  the  vessel,  which  was  grad- 
ually drawing  nearer,  the  hull  being  already  visible. 
As  soon  as  she  freed  her  wind,  great  spaces  of  canvas 
fell  from  the  yards  like  white  clouds. 

"  Ah,  there  he  is,  showing  more  canvas  in  one 
minute  than  ten  Spitalfield  weavers  could  make  in  a 
year  !  "  said  Jack. 


26 


t*?  ifc  ^Ji  ^?  tl»  tl?  til      tl?  tl?  't'Tt? 

THE  QUARTETTE 

As  soon  as  she  felt  the  wind,  the  vessel  heeled  over, 
gracefully  inclining  her  masts,  as  if  in  salute ;  then 
her  sails  shivered  two  or  three  times,  and  answering 
the  helm,  she  resumed  her  upright  position,  while  a 
double  fringe  of  silvery  foam  flashed  past  her  black 
sides. 

"  What  a  lovely  craft !  "  cried  Jack,  carried  away 
by  enthusiasm.  "  She  must  reel  ofF  the  knots  in  great 
fashion." 

Apparently  the  crew  of  the  ship  did  not  share  Jack's 
ideas  as  to  her  speed,  for  the  fore-top-gallant  sail  was 
set  and  another  jib  showed  beyond  the  two  already 
swelling  in  the  breeze. 

"  Look,  Macgill,"  said  Jack,  handing  the  telescope 
to  his  companion;  "they  evidently  don't  want  to  lose 
any  of  the  wind.  With  all  that  canvas  set,  the  devil 
take  me  if  she  is  not  going  fifteen  knots  !  " 

Impelled  by  a  fresh  breeze,  the  ship  came  on  so 
rapidly  that  in  a  few  minutes  the  telescope  was  no 
longer  needed  to  make  out  the  details. 

"  Why,  they  are  mad  !  the  captain  must  have  drunk 
a  ton  of  punch  !  "  cried  Jack  and  Macgill,  on  seeing 
the  lower  stunsails  set,  the  ends  of  the  booms  dipping 
in  the  sea  like  the  wings  of  a  gull. 


27 


THE  QUARTETTE 

"  If  they  keep  on,"  said  Macgill,  "  they  will  lift  her 
from  the  water  and  make  her  fly  in  the  air  or  turn  her 
keel  up.  She  is  a  fine  brig.  Everything  hangs  on  ; 
not  a  mast  is  bending,  not  a  rope  is  giving,"  he  went 
on  admiringly. 

"  Never  did  a  smuggler  chased  by  a  king's  ship, 
never  did  a  merchant  vessel  laden  with  gold  and 
cochineal,  harried  by  a  corsair,  fly  at  such  speed.  One 
would  think  their  lives  depended  on  it,  and  yet  I  can- 
not see  another  sail  on  the  horizon." 

"  Captain  Peppercull  knows  his  business.  If  he  is 
pressing  his  ship,  it  is  because  he  is  in  a  hurry  or  well 
paid.  He  would  not  run  the  risk  for  nothing  of  cap- 
sizing or  of  bringing  the  whole  business  down  about 
his  ears.  He  is  not  fond  enough  of  water  for  that," 
said  Jack,  sententiously.  "  There  is  a  good  reason  for 
our  having  been  sent  here  and  my  being  told  to  pur- 
chase a  travelling-carriage  from  that  accursed  Geordie." 

"  Heaven  forgive  me,  Jack !  they  are  setting  the 
sky-scrapers  on  every  mast." 

"  There  is  not  a  sail  now  in  the  '  Lovely  Jenny's  ' 
locker  big  enough  to  make  a  handkerchief  out  of. 
Every  rag  is  set." 

"  Although,  thank  Heaven,  I  am  not  afraid  of  water, 


28 


THE  QUARTETTE  


externally,  at  least,  I  prefer  at  this  moment  to  be  on 
this  rock  rather  than  on  Captain  PepperculPs  deck." 

Feeling  the  weight  of  the  increased  canvas,  the  masts 
bent  like  bows,  the  cut-water  disappeared  almost  en- 
tirely under  the  pressure  of  the  wind,  and  a  great 
shower  of  foam  broke  on  the  bows,  like  the  shavings 
that  rise  from  the  hole  of  a  plane  vigorously  driven. 

"  He  will  carry  away  his  masts  by  the  board,"  said 
Macgill,  deeply  interested. 

Nothing  gave  way,  however,  and  the  ship,  carried 
along  like  a  whirlwind,  shot  up  close  to  the  cliff. 
Stripped  in  an  instant  of  her  sails,  she  stopped,  showing 
her  fine  and  delicate  rigging.  A  boat  left  the  side  of 
the  "  Lovely  Jenny  "  and  in  a  few  strokes  brought  to 
shore  a  man  who  appeared  a  prey  to  the  liveliest 
impatience. 

"  Half  an  hour  late  !  "  he  murmured  as  he  jumped 
ashore,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  Where  is  the  carriage  ?  " 

Jack,  who  with  Macgill,  had  come  down  from  the 
cliff,  called  the  carriage  up.  When  the  new-comer 
was  installed  in  it,  Little  John  repeated  his  question, 
"  Which  way,  your  honour  ?  " 

"  To  London,  and  as  fast  as  you  can.  Three 
guineas  for  yourself." 


29 


THE  QUARTETTE 


The  carriage  went  off  like  lightning,  the  wheels 
blazing  like  those  of  Elijah's  car.  Alone  with  Macgill, 
Jack  formulated  this  ingenious  apothegm  :  — 

"There  goes  a  gentleman  who  is  fond  of  travelling 
fast.  It  would  have  been  a  great  pity  if  he  had  been 
born  a  tortoise." 


30 


THE  QUARTETTE 


II 


LITTLE  JOHN,  carried  away  beyond  all  ex- 
pression by  the  promise  of  a  three-guinea  tip, 
caused  his  whip  to  perform  a  series  of  cracks 
and  explosions  which  resembled  a  musketry  contest 
between  two  armies,  for  he  was  a  virtuoso  in  this  sort 
of  music.  The  horses,  exasperated  by  the  cracking  of 
the  fusilade,  and  also  by  the  lash  of  the  whip,  which 
in  its  vagabond  arabesques  caught  them  on  the  ears, 
galloped  at  full  speed  and  rushed  through  space  with 
mad  ardour.  The  wheels  turned  so  fast  that  they 
seemed  to  have  no  spokes ;  nothing  could  be  seen  of 
them  but  rapid  flashes. 

The  stranger  had  ensconced  himself  in  a  corner  of 
the  carriage  with  the  motionless  resignation  and  the 
concentrated  fury  of  a  powerful  will  that  meets  natural 
and  insurmountable  obstacles,  such  as  time  and  space. 
In  the  palm  of  his  hand,  stretched  out  on  his  knee,  he 
held  a  watch,  the  hands  of  which  he  followed  with  a 
restless  gaze.    Then,  glancing  out  of  the  window  at 

31 


kk k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  kkk  kkkkkkkk  k  k  k 

 THE  QUARTETTE  

the  sides  of  the  road,  he  measured  the  speed  with  which 
the  trees  vanished  past  the  narrow  pane. 

"  The  half-hour  lost  will  soon  be  made  up  if  the 
horses  can  keep  up  this  pace  for  a  little  while  longer," 
murmured  the  mysterious  personage,  with  a  sigh  of 
satisfaction. 

The  man  who  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  reach  London 
deserves  to  have  his  appearance  described  with  a  few 
strokes  of  the  pen.  He  was  young ;  his  features  were 
regular  and  cold,  but  marked  with  the  stamp  of  reflec- 
tion and  of  will.  He  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than 
twenty-six  or  twenty-seven  years  of  age.  The  lower 
portion  of  his  face,  coloured  by  successive  layers  of 
tan,  betokened  numerous  voyages  or  long  sojourns  in 
the  East  and  the  warm  regions  of  the  tropics,  for  the 
dark  complexion  was  not  his  natural  one.  The  brow, 
partially  uncovered  and  flecked  with  short  curls  of  very 
fine  fair  hair,  had  a  satiny  whiteness,  and  protected 
from  the  heat  of  the  sun  by  the  shade  of  the  hat,  it 
preserved  all  the  brilliancy  of  Northern  blood.  Even 
after  this  examination,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
assign  a  particular  rank  or  a  distinct  social  position  to 
the  individual  sitting  on  the  Lincoln-green  cloth  cush- 
ions of  Master  Geordie's  olive-green  travelling-carriage. 


32 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Geordie,  indeed,  would  unquestionably  have  uttered  the 
most  doleful  lamentations  on  seeing  the  pace  at  which 
Little  John  was  driving  his  horses  and  his  favourite 
carriage. 

The  man  was  not  a  soldier.  He  had  not  the  stiff- 
ness, the  carriage  of  the  head,  and  the  square  shoulders 
which  make  a  son  of  Mars  recognisable  at  a  glance,  even 
in  civilian  dress.  Nor  was  he  a  clergyman.  His  face, 
though  serious  and  thoughtful,  had  not  the  beatific 
expression  and  the  sugary  softness  characteristic  of 
churchmen.  Nor  was  he  a  merchant.  His  white 
brow  was  not  marked  by  any  wrinkles  full  of  figures 
and  calculations  as  to  the  chances  of  a  rise  or  fall 
in  sugar.  Nor  was  he  a  dandy.  But  it  might  be 
safely  affirmed,  on  looking  at  him,  that  he  was  a  per- 
fect gentleman. 

What  was  the  urgent  interest  which  made  him  gal- 
lop along  the  London  road  as  if  the  salvation  of  the 
world  depended  on  his  not  being  a  minute  late  ?  Was 
he  running  away  from  or  pursuing  any  one  ?  I  cannot 
yet  tell  that. 

The  horses  began  to  show  signs  of  fatigue.  The 
rubbing  of  the  harness  made  the  perspiration  break  out 
on  them  in  flakes  of  white,  foamy  lather;  their  breasts 


3 


33 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

were  covered  with  silvery  foam  like  that  of  the  sea- 
coursers  in  the  triumphs  of  Neptune  or  Galatea. 
Long  jets  of  smoke  issued  from  their  nostrils,  and,  car- 
ried away  by  the  wind,  mingled  with  the  silvery  vapour 
that  rose  from  their  heaving  sides.  The  carriage 
rolled  in  a  cloud,  like  the  car  of  a  classic  divinity. 

In  spite  of  his  great  desire  to  earn  the  three  guineas, 
Little  John  felt  some  scruple  at  driving  his  animals 
in  this  way,  and  the  fear  of  bringing  them  back  broken- 
winded  to  Master  Geordie  combated  for  a  time 
his  very  natural  desire  to  deserve  the  splendid  tip. 
Then  Little  John  was  an  Englishman,  and  his  postil- 
ion's heart  began  to  bleed  as  he  saw  Black,  his  favour- 
ite horse,  breathless  and  covered  with  sweat.  A  French 
postilion  would  not  have  felt  any  such  scruples.  So,  to 
quiet  his  own  conscience,  Little  John  rose  somewhat  in 
his  saddle,  made  a  half-turn  towards  the  carriage,  and 
said,  resting  his  hand  upon  the  quarter  of  the  horse  he 
rode  :  "  Is  it  your  lordship's  intention  to  kill  the  horses 
and  to  pay  for  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  stranger. 

"  Very  good,"  answered  Little  John  ;  "  vour  lord- 
ship's desire  shall  be  fulfilled."  And  settling  himself 
in  his  boots  and  his  saddle,  he  struck  his  horse  with 


34 


±±£±4~±^£  ££££££££££££££££ 

THE  QUARTETTE 

the  handle  of  his  whip.  The  animal  reared,  and  the 
pain  calling  out  the  remains  of  his  strength,  he  dashed 
forward,  carrying  along  the  remainder  of  the  team. 
The  desperate  speed  was  kept  up,  thanks  to  an  inces- 
sant application  of  blows,  which  would  have  wearied  a 
less  practised  arm  than  Little  John's. 

The  stranger's  eye  was  still  fixed  upon  his  watch- 
dial  ;  he  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  the  rural  land- 
scape softly  gilded  by  autumn,  or  to  the  pretty  cottages 
peeping  in  all  the  simplicity  of  their  morning  dress 
through  the  trees,  already  losing  their  leaves,  along  the 
roadside,  and  showed  himself  insensible  to  all  the  grace- 
ful details  of  English  nature.  He  assuredly  cared  very 
little  for  picturesqueness,  at  that  time,  at  least,  although 
he  did  not  appear  to  belong  to  the  thick-headed  class  of 
Philistines  and  bourgeois.  He  was  engrossed  by  the  one 
thought  of  reaching  his  destination. 

Thanks  to  the  additional  impulse  given  to  the  speed 
of  the  horses  by  Little  John,  henceforth  reassured  as 
regarded  all  possibility  of  accidents,  the  eager  traveller 
seemed  to  breathe  more  freely,  his  brow  cleared,  and  he 
put  his  watch  in  his  pocket. 

"  Come  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  shall  get  there  in 
time,  in  spite  of  the  bad  luck  which,  in  all  this  busi- 


35 


THE  QUARTETTE 

ness,  seems  to  have  taken  pleasure  in  upsetting  my 
plans.  It  shall  not  be  said  that  my  will  had  to  yield 
to  human  obstacles.  And  what  a  series  of  circum- 
stances apparently  combined  on  purpose  to  delay  me  ! 
The  vessel  which  brings  the  first  letter  in  which  I  am 
informed  of  the  matter,  which  interests  me  to  such 
a  degree  as  to  make  me  leave  India  suddenly,  is  met 
near  the  Moldave  Islands  by  Javanese  pirates,  who  take 
and  strip  it ;  so  it  is  only  by  the  second  mail  that  I 
learn  what  it  is  so  important  for  me  to  know.  I  char- 
ter the  fastest  sailing-vessel  which  I  can  find  in  Calcutta, 
and  a  frightful  gale  makes  me  lose  eight  days  in  the 
straits  of  Bab-el-Mandeb.  Half  of  my  crew  leave  the 
Ganges  carrying  away  the  germs  of  black  cholera,  and 
die  most  unseasonably.  In  the  Red  Sea  I  find  the 
plague,  and  the  Isthmus  of  Suez  barred  by  a  series  of 
quarantines.  I  write  on  a  camel's  hump  a  letter  to 
worthy  Macgill  which  must  have  reached  him  all  in 
tatters,  perfumed  with  vinegar  and  aromatic  fumiga- 
tions, tattooed  with  twenty  colours  like  the  skin  of  a 
Caribbean,  and  transmitted  with  respectful  terror  by  the 
tongs  of  the  health  officers.  At  the  risk  of  being  shot 
down  I  evade  quarantines,  —  for,  amazing  to  relate, 
the  plague  was  afraid  of  the  cholera.     Fortunately  I 

36 


  THE  QUARTETTE 


find  idling  along  the  shore  not  far  from  Alexandria 
worthy  Captain  Peppercull,  a  man  without  any  prej- 
udices, who  is  kind  enough,  in  return  for  an  im- 
mense sum,  to  take  me  on  board  his  ship  and  carry 
me  to  England,  carefully  avoiding  ports  provided  with 
lazarettos.  Never  have  I  been  so  nervous  as  on  that 
accursed  trip.  I,  who  am  usually  so  calm,  was  just 
like  an  empty-headed  chit  who  has  the  vapours  because 
her  husband  refuses  to  satisfy  some  unreasonable  whim 
of  hers.  Well,  I  shall  soon  reach  my  journey's  end  ; 
my  letter,  which  must  have  arrived  a  day  or  two  be- 
fore me,  has  given  them  time  to  get  everything  ready. 
It  is  nine  o'clock.  In  two  hours  more  I  shall  be  in 
London." 

"  Well,  postilion,"  he  said,  going  on  with  his  mono- 
logue, as  he  lowered  the  window,  "  it  seems  to  me  that 
we  are  slackening  our  pace." 

"  My  lord,  unless  we  had  the  griffin  spoken  of  in 
Scripture,  or  the  car  of  fire  of  Elijah,  we  could  not  go 
any  faster.  I  challenge  any  postilion,  even  were  he 
paid  six  guineas,  to  get,  no  matter  how  hard  he  might 
whip  them  up,  any  greater  speed  out  of  the  legs  of  four 
poor  animals,"  majestically  replied  Little  John,  as  he 
turned  round. 


37 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

However,  as  a  slight  concession  to  the  extravagant 
desires  of  the  traveller,  Little  John,  who  in  his  inter- 
course with  society  had  acquired  fine  manners,  cracked 
his  whip  two  or  three  times;  but,  as  he  had  foreseen, 
the  stimulus  was  now  useless,  and  the  lash,  though  laid 
on  to  the  withers  of  the  horses,  did  not  bring  out  a 
single  shiver  of  impatience  or  pain.  Soon  the  near 
leader,  who  was  blowing  like  a  blacksmith's  bellows, 
was  covered  with  lather,  his  coat  grew  rough,  his  head 
plunged  forward,  his  hoofs  lost  the  rhythm  of  the  gal- 
lop ;  he  staggered  and  leaned  against  his  companion, 
then  fell  on  his  side.  The  equipage,  going  at  full  speed 
and  unable  to  pull  up  at  once,  dragged  the  poor  animal 
for  quite  a  distance,  rolling  up  with  his  body  the  dust 
of  the  road. 

Little  John,  having  stopped  his  horses,  dragged  at 
the  fallen  animal  bv  the  bridle  and  struck  it  energeti- 
cally with  the  handle  of  his  whip,  believing  that  it  had 
merely  stumbled  and  fallen,  but  Black  was  never  to 
carry  travellers  any  more  in  this  life.  His  flanks,  wet 
as  if  laved  in  water  of  the  sky  and  of  the  sea,  heaved 
with  a  last  convulsion  ;  he  rose  up  in  a  delirium  of 
pain  and  made  a  few  steps,  dragging  the  carriage  out 
of  the  straight  line.    He  looked  like  one  of  those  phan- 


38 


THE  QUARTETTE 


toms  of  wan,  mutilated  horses  that  rise  from  amid  the 
heaps  of  bodies  on  abandoned  battle-fields.  Overcome 
by  the  ascendency  and  terror  of  approaching  death 
which  they  felt  with  a  wonderful  instinct,  the  other 
horses,  in  spite  of  Little  John's  efforts,  who  dragged 
at  their  bits,  followed  the  staggering  steps  of  their  poor 
comrade,  a  prey  to  the  black  intoxication  of  agony. 
At  the  very  moment  when  the  carriage,  completely  out 
of  its  course,  was  about  to  upset  on  the  edge  of  the 
road,  Black  rolled  to  the  ground  as  if  invisible  knives 
had  hamstrung  him ;  his  great,  wild  eyes  grew  dim 
and  were  covered  with  a  bluish  film ;  a  mass  of  foam 
filled  his  bloody  nostrils,  and  he  stretched  out  his  legs, 
that  stiffened  like  posts.  It  was  all  over  with  Black, 
a  fine  horse,  worthy  of  a  better  fate. 

The  whole  thing  had  occurred  in  less  time  than  it 
takes  to  write  it. 

The  stranger  sprang  quickly  from  the  carriage,  his 
face  giving  evidence  of  the  most  violent  annoyance. 

"  This  is  the  last  straw,"  he  said  in  an  accent  of 
concentrated  fury,  as  he  kicked  Black's  body.  "  That 
wretched  brute  lying  on  the  ground  like  a  piece  of 
black  paper  might  at  least  have  lived  some  ten  minutes 
longer.     Come,  be  quick  !     I  can  see  the  post-house 


39 


THE  QUARTETTE 


yonder ;  make  haste  towards  it."  And  the  stranger 
helped  Little  John,  who  had  got  down,  in  a  way 
that  betokened  his  thorough  familiarity  with  horses. 
He  undid  the  buckles  without  any  hesitation,  and  dis- 
entangled easily  the  complications  of  the  harness  tangled 
by  the  desperate  efforts  of  poor  Black.  The  postilion, 
at  first  scandalised  by  the  little  feeling  which  the 
stranger  showed  for  the  dead  horse,  felt  sincere  admira- 
tion, and  bestowed  upon  him  his  esteem,  a  thing  which 
he  was  most  chary  of. 

14  What  a  pity  that  you  are  a  nobleman  !  "  he  said 
to  the  stranger.  "  You  could  have  made  a  handsome 
living  in  my  business.  But  perhaps  it  is  better  for  us 
that  you  are  a  lord.  Poor  Black !  "  he  went  on  as  he 
took  off  the  bridle,  "  who  would  have  thought  this 
morning  that  you  were  eating  your  last  measure  of 
oats  ?  This  is  a  sad  life  !  "  Such  was  Black's  funeral 
eulogy.  If  the  orator  lacked  eloquence,  at  least  he 
did  not  want  for  feeling.  A  suspicious  moisture 
showed  in  his  eyes,  and  if  he  had  not  just  in  time 
carried  to  his  eyes  the  worn  cuff  of  his  sleeve,  a  tear 
might  perhaps  have  rolled  between  his  cheek  chapped 
by  cold  and  his  nose  reddened  by  wine.  Black's  soul, 
if  anything  survives  in  animals,  must  have  felt  satisfied 


40 


THE  QUARTETTE 

and  forgiven  Little  John  for  the  blows  he  might  have 
unjustly  struck  on  the  body  it  had  once  inhabited ;  for 
he  did  not  lavish  marks  of  tenderness,  and  he  was  the 
most  stoical  postilion  that  ever  threw  a  leg  across  a 
saddle. 

"Forward  !  "  cried  the  stranger,  sharply. 

Little  John  again  bestrode  his  horse,  and  the  carriage 
rolled  on,  not  so  fast,  but  still  at  a  pretty  good  rate. 

The  post-house  was  reached  in  a  few  moments  and 
the  stranger,  having  plunged  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 
drew  it  out  full  of  coins  which  he  poured  hastily  into 
the  horny  hand  of  the  postilion. 

"  That  is  for  your  tip  and  your  horse." 

Little  John,  perfectly  amazed,  began  a  sentence  of 
thanks  so  complicated  that  he  was  compelled  to  give 
up  the  attempt  to  finish  it,  and  called  out  abruptly  in 
the  midst  of  his  splendid  periods,  as  if  seized  with  a 
sudden  inspiration,  to  the  stable-boy  who  was  mooning 
around  the  carriage  :  — 

"  Hey,  Smith  !  throw  a  pail  of  water  on  the  wheels. 
They  are  heated  and  might  take  fire."  Indeed  a  light 
smoke  was  rising  from  the  axles  and  showed  that  Little 
John's  fear  was  in  no  wise  chimerical. 

The  lout,  as    he  saw  the   axles  smoking,  said : 


4i 


THE  QUARTETTE 

4  Why  !  that  is  true.  You  must  have  driven  rather 
fast  to-day,  Little  John,  for  without  offence  to  you, 
your  carriage,  and  your  horses,  it  is  a  long  time  since 
you  have  had  hot  axles.  Is  your  gentleman  generous?  " 

"  As  generous  as  the  lord  mayor  on  the  day  he  is 
installed.  But  if  he  is  liberal,  he  is  also  very  short- 
tempered,  so  you  had  better  make  haste." 

Smith  rapidly  hastened  to  plunge  the  pail  into  a  stone 
trough,  and  lavishly  poured  water  upon  the  axles. 
Meanwhile  the  hostlers,  as  prompt  as  they  were  clever, 
had  harnessed  four  fresh,  spirited  and  vigorous  horses, 
the  postilion  was  in  his  saddle,  and  a  well  mounted  courier 
had  gone  on  ahead  to  order  relays.  Jack,  better  versed 
in  matters  of  the  sea  than  in  travelling  by  land,  had 
neglected  to  take  this  precaution.  Master  Geordie's 
carriage  started  again  as  if  carried  away  by  hippogriffs. 

As  he  led  back  his  horses,  Little  John  could  not 
help  stopping  for  a  few  minutes  by  the  body  of  Black 
stretched  out  on  the  road. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  the  postilion,  u  he  was  a  willing  horse, 
—  that  was  the  cause  of  his  death.  He  pulled  the  whole 
team.  You  will  never  die  like  that,  you  idlers  and 
sloths,"  he  added,  as  he  made  his  whip  light  upon  the 
fat,  dappled  quarters  of  the  survivors,  which  replied  to 


42 


•At  «£»       »1»  »i"        »4»  *jr*  «4»  »i»  *i*  *^**tT      ts?  ts?  tfc  ts?  «F?  ti?  «S?  tl.  m  *4* 

THE  QUARTETTE 

this  morality  by  a  few  kicks.  "  There  is  no  fear  of 
your  ever  breaking  down  your  nervous  systems." 

In  order  to  be  done  with  the  interesting  Little  John 
and  to  follow  as  we  please  our  stranger  on  his  mad 
course,  let  us  add  that  this  fellow,  honest  and  conscien- 
tious in  his  own  way,  gave  Master  Geordie  half  the 
sum  which  he  had  received  from  the  stranger  as  the 
price  of  Black ;  less  virtuous  postilions  might  have  kept 
two-thirds  for  themselves. 

No  remarkable  incidents  marked  the  other  stages. 
Master  Geordie's  carriage  rolled  with  steady  velocity 
over  the  wonderful  English  roads,  smooth  as  billiard 
tables  and  better  kept  than  the  roads  in  our  royal  parks. 
Already  on  the  horizon  showed  the  vast  pall  of  smoke 
that  always  overhangs  the  city  of  London.  The  sight 
of  it  gave  greater  pleasure  to  the  traveller  than  the  most 
splendid  Venetian  azure. 

"  Oh  !  there  is  the  smoke  of  that  old  devil's  kettle," 
said  the  stranger,  as  he  rubbed  his  hands  with  an  air  of 
deep  satisfaction.    "  We  are  getting  along." 

The  cottages  and  houses,  at  first  scattered,  were  now 
in  denser  masses,  streets  began  to  run  into  the  road, 
the  high  chimney-stacks  of  the  works,  like  Egyptian 
obelisks,    rose  in  the    heavens    and    belched  their 


43 


THE  QUARTETTE 


black  smoke  into  the  gray  mist  ;  the  pointed  spire  of 
Trinity  Church,  the  squat  belfry  of  St.  Olave's,  the 
sombre  tower  of  Saint  Saviour's  with  its  four  finials, 
mingled  with  the  forest  of  chimney-pots,  over  which 
they  soared  with  the  same  superiority  as  a  celestial 
thought  soars  above  terrestrial  things  and  interests. 
Farther  on,  behind  this  foreground  with  its  irregular 
outline  due  to  the  angles  of  the  buildings,  showed 
vaguely,  through  the  bluish  mist  which  floated  over  the 
river  and  the  complicated  spars  and  rigging  of  the  ships, 
the  outline  of  the  Tower  of  London  and  the  gigantic 
dome  of  Saint  Paul's,  a  British  imitation  of  Saint  Peter's 
at  Rome,  which,  its  contours  softened  by  the  mist, 
showed  rather  well  on  the  horizon.  Whether  the 
prospect  was  familiar  to  him,  or  whether  pre-occupa- 
tion  had  killed  curiosity,  the  stranger  merely  glanced  at 
the  objects  seen  in  succession  through  the  window,  in 
order  to  assure  himself  of  the  distance  he  had  traversed. 

The  carriage  crossed  Southwark  Bridge,  making  as 
much  noise  with  its  wheels  as  the  chariot  on  the 
Salmonean  brazen  bridge,  then  entered,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river  coming  up  towards  the  Strand,  the 
labyrinth  of  narrow  streets  which  border  the  Thames, 
and  stopped  at  the  end  of  one  of  those  passages  known 


44 


£+££££££££££££££££££££££ 

THE  QUARTETTE 

in  London  by  the  name  of  lanes,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Saint  Margaret's  Church. 

The  stranger  drew  out  his  watch  and  seemed  relieved 
of  a  great  weight,  —  the  hands  pointed  to  eleven.  He 
had  come  sixty  miles  in  three  hours.  He  cast  on  Saint 
Margaret's  a  glance  of  satisfaction,  then  resolutely 
entered  the  narrow  lane,  made  darker  by  the  shadow  of 
the  church  and  the  height  of  the  houses. 

Scarcely  had  he  gone  a  few  steps  when  a  man 
seemed  to  emerge  from  the  wall  against  which  he  stood, 
and  from  which  he  was  scarcely  distinguished,  owing 
to  the  dark  colour  of  his  garments.  He  advanced 
towards  the  stranger. 

"  You  have  come  from  yonder  for  what  you  know  ?  " 
he  murmured  as  he  passed  near  him. 

"  Yes,  I  am  recommended  by  Macgill,  Jack,  and  Cap- 
tain Peppercull,"  replied  the  stranger  in  the  same  tone. 

"  Follow  me.    All  is  ready." 

They  walked  to  an  ill-looking  house  whence  they 
were  no  doubt  being  watched  from  within,  for  the  door 
was  at  once  noiselessly  opened  and  closed. 

While  Master  Geordie's  olive-green  travelling-car- 
riage was  travelling  along  the  London  road  with  the 


45 


THE  QUARTETTE 


terrific  impetuosity  we  have  described,  the  "  Lovely 
Jenny "  had  not  remained  idle  either.  After  having 
taken  on  board  Macgill  and  Jack,  she  had  continued  on 
her  way  driven  by  a  pretty  breeze.  Shakespeare's 
Cliff"  having  been  rounded,  she  had  passed  Deal  and 
Dover,  and  following  the  line  of  white  cliffs,  had 
reached  Ramsgate.  Then,  entering  the  river,  she  had 
stopped  opposite  Gravesend  at  nightfall,  and  had  an- 
chored behind  the  flotilla  of  Hull  colliers,  the  black 
sails  of  which  might  have  caused  Theseus'  father  to 
die  of  grief.  And  there,  with  her  debonair  and  peace- 
ful look,  she  would  have  been  taken  for  a  respectable 
ship  waiting  for  the  tide  to  get  up  to  London  Bridge 
and  land  at  the  Custom  House  a  most  legitimate  cargo. 
Yet  her  two  lofty  masts,  her  square  yards,  the  fine  lines 
of  her  hull,  in  which  carrying  power  had  been  sacrificed 
to  speed,  gave  to  the  "  Lovely  Jenny,"  in  spite  of  her 
hypocritical  appearance,  a  saucy,  fly-away  look  which 
is  not  to  be  seen  in  vessels  whose  sole  business  is  to 
carry  molasses.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  no 
master  could  have  shown  more  satisfactory  papers  than 
Captain  Peppercull. 


46 


tl?  tlu  tfc        tt?  4?»  4^  «4«  ^^*f»g|*gjy«I«j|»«I«  sfeijf S§»  «§?  sir  «i?«§» 


THE  QUARTETTE 


LTHOUGH  the  house  before  which  I  have 


J— ^  taken  my  reader  is  by  no  means  of  an  en- 
gaging appearance,  I  hope  he  will  not  object 
to  precede  the  stranger  and  his  guide,  and  to  enter  it 
with  me. 

Externally  it  had  nothing  particularly  repulsive,  and 
looked  very  much  like  the  other  houses  on  the  street. 
However,  its  narrow  facade,  compressed  by  the  neigh- 
bouring buildings,  which  were  wider,  had  an  air  of 
constraint,  like  a  rascal  who  finds  himself  in  good  com- 
pany.  By  the  side  of  the  ruddy,  healthy  faces  of  the 
neighbouring  buildings,  the  brick  of  the  walls,  of  an 
unhealthy  yellow,  gave  the  impression  of  the  wan,  un- 
pleasant face  of  a  debauchee.  This  house,  for  fear  of 
squinting  or  being  blind  of  one  eye,  had  blinded  itself 
altogether.  Every  window  was  closed,  and  in  order 
to  avoid  reciprocity,  nothing  looked  out  of  the  house 
into  the  street.  As  is  usual  in  London,  a  small 
area  provided  with  a  railing  separated  it  from  the 


III 


47 


THE  QUARTETTE 

street.  The  railing,  covered  with  the  imperceptible 
coal  dust  which  the  English  sky  is  constantly  rain- 
ing down,  was  as  black  as  the  balustrade  around  a 
tomb,  and  betokened  on  the  part  of  the  owner  or  the 
tenant  utter  carelessness  of  comfort  or  cleanliness,  — 
that  is,  if  the  house  were  usually  inhabited,  for  nothing 
in  it  revealed  the  presence  of  man.  No  smoke  rose 
from  the  chimneys,  and  the  brass  bell-knob,  covered 
with  dust  and  verdigris,  did  not  appear  to  have  been 
touched  for  a  long  time ;  there  was  nothing  living  on 
the  sleepy,  gloomy,  rain-washed  walls. 

If  an  attentive  observer  had  studied  the  extraor- 
dinary aspect  of  the  house,  —  the  front  of  which,  on 
account  of  the  narrow  breadth,  admitted  of  only  two 
windows  and  one  room  on  each  story,  including  the 
staircase,  —  he  would  have  understood  that  the  facade 
masked  another  edifice  situated  at  some  distance  from 
the  street  and  which  was  reached  through  this  one  ;  for 
the  edges  of  the  stone  steps,  worn  and  sunk  in  the 
centre,  testified  to  more  frequent  traffic  than  the  mean- 
ness of  the  place  would  have  led  one  to  suppose. 

The  door,  in  fact,  opened  into  a  long,  dark,  damp 
passageway  through  which  fetid,  icy-cold  air,  rarely 
renewed,  circulated  with  difficulty.    It  was  like  the 


48 


THE  QUARTETTE 


atmosphere  of  a  tomb,  a  cellar,  or  a  dungeon.  The 
walls  of  the  narrow  passage  were  polished  about  the 
height  of  a  man  by  the  continuous  rubbing  of  greasy 
hands  groping  their  way  through  the  darkness.  The 
floor  was  covered  with  a  layer  of  mud,  sticky  in  some 
places,  hard  in  others,  testifying  to  the  coming  and 
going  of  a  great  number  of  muddy  feet.  A  few  steps 
from  the  door  the  scanty  light  that  filtered  in  through 
the  dirty  panes  of  the  fan-light  died  away.  One  had  to 
proceed  then  for  a  considerable  space  in  the  deepest 
darkness.  It  was  probable  that  the  passage  was  made 
through  thick  walls  and  could  receive  no  light  even  by 
loopholes.  Perhaps  even  in  certain  places  it  passed 
under-ground,  judging  from  the  water  which  made  its 
way  through  the  stones. 

A  man  following  this  passage  for  the  first  time 
would  very  soon  be  thrown  out  of  his  reckoning  by 
the  numerous  turns,  and  could  not  possibly  make  out 
in  what  direction  he  was  proceeding.  The  stranger, 
preceded  by  the  queer  individual  in  the  drab  clothes, 
walked  with  a  firm  but  prudent  step,  lifting  up  one 
foot  only  when  he  had  got  the  other  firmly  placed ;  not 
that  he  had  to  fear  any  ambush  or  any  trap,  since  the 
guide  walked  in  front  of  him,  but  he  felt  that  vague  ap- 


4 


49 


4: 4:  *i:  &  4:  db    4: 4: 4:  is      &  tfc  &  tb  tfe  db  £  db  4:  sb  £ 

THE  QUARTETTE 


prehension  inspired  in  the  bravest  of  men  by  darkness 
and  chill  under  a  low  vault  between  two  narrow  walls. 
Instinctively  his  hands  sought  under  his  cloak  whether 
his  two  small  pocket  pistols  were  in  their  places. 

At  a  great  distance,  in  the  obscurity,  a  few  reddish 
rays  began  to  show,  indicating  a  lighted  room,  the 
beams  filtering  through  the  joints  of  an  ill-closed  door. 
The  guide  uttered  a  curious  sound,  evidently  a  signal 
agreed  upon ;  the  sound  of  bolts  being  drawn  was 
heard  within,  and  the  door,  opened  slightly,  suddenly 
shed  into  the  dark  passage  a  red  rush  of  light. 

Using  my  privilege  as  a  novelist,  I  shall  penetrate 
before  the  stranger  into  the  strange  place  where  he 
seemed  expected  ;  although  in  truth,  it  was  impossible 
to  guess  what  kind  of  relations  could  exist  between  this 
young  man  with  the  fine,  noble  face  and  the  curious 
dwellers  within  that  den. 

It  was  a  rather  large  room,  in  which  the  eye  was 
first  attracted  by  a  chimneypiece  of  ancient  form,  in 
which  burned  in  a  grate  a  very  bright  fire  of  coal, 
the  brilliant  reflections  of  which  illumined  the  room  ; 
for  the  wretched  light  coming  in  through  the  window, 
the  lower  panes  of  which  were  carefully  whitened,  and 
which  opened  upon  one  of  those  sombre  wells  that 


50 


THE  QUARTETTE 


are  called  yards  in  great  cities,  counted  for  nothing. 
The  two  window-panes  left  clean  showed  only  awn- 
ings and  roofs  covered  with  tiles  of  an  ugly  red, 
chimney-pots,  and  black  hoardings, — in  a  word,  the 
whole  of  the  interior  wretchedness  of  a  mean,  ignoble 
building. 

The  walls,  the  lower  part  of  which  had  been  bared 
by  the  constant  rubbing  of  shoulders,  preserved  in  the 
upper  portion  some  traces  of  a  wash  of  a  dark  red  tone 
like  dried  blood.  On  this  background  the  customers 
of  the  place  had,  while  waiting  or  while  idle,  engraved 
with  a  nail  or  a  knife  innumerable  drawings  and  ara- 
besques of  the  most  fanciful  description  ;  the  white  lines 
stood  out  like  the  outlines  on  Etruscan  vases,  and  gave 
proof  of  as  pure  and  as  primitive  an  art.  The  favour- 
ite theme  of  these  unknown  artists,  the  one  most  fre- 
quently reproduced  amid  the  ornamental  fantasies,  was, 
it  must  be  confessed,  a  gallows  adorned  with  its  fruits. 
Did  this  choice  betray  habitual  preoccupation,  or  was  it 
due  to  the  pretty  effect  produced  by  the  three  uprights 
of  the  English  gibbet  united  at  the  top  by  crossbeams 
forming  a  triangle,  the  picturesque  silhouette  of  which 
attracted  the  artists  ?  That  is  a  difficult  question  to 
answer. 


51 


THE  QUARTETTE 


The  drawings,  though  coarse,  were  remarkable  at 
least  for  technical  accuracy  and  fidelity.  In  spite  of 
the  barbarous  drawing  and  the  monstrous  anatomical 
license  indulged  in,  the  movements  and  attitudes  of  the 
small  figures  represented  as  hung  had  a  striking  truth- 
fulness which  the  most  advanced  art  does  not  alwavs 
attain.  The  running  knots  were  well  placed,  and  it 
was  plain  that  they  had  been  drawn  by  assiduous  spec- 
tators of  the  Tyburn  stage.  These  grotesque  sketches, 
drawn  with  hideous  joviality,  made  one  laugh  and 
tremble. 

Numerous  drawings,  sections  and  elevations  of  New- 
gate, alternated  with  this  pleasant  subject ;  these,  though 
lacking  in  architectural  correctness,  betrayed  at  least  a 
thorough  knowledge  and  a  very  clear  remembrance  of 
the  place.  Heads  of  smokers  with  the  most  bizarre 
profiles  faced  crowned  lions  and  other  apocalyptic 
beasts;  vessels  more  fantastic  than  those  of  Delia 
Bella  rose  and  fell  on  impossible  seas.  All  these 
things  were  drawn  boldly,  without  much  regard  to 
the  neighbouring  sketch.  Dates,  monograms,  and  let- 
ters of  the  most  amazing  caligraphy  complicated  this 
hideous  breviary  on  which  the  only  words  legible  were 
"  idleness,"  "  vice,"  and  "  crime." 


52 


•4*  «4*  »4»    rJ-i  rii    ^        tf?  is?  ct?  tl?  2*?tl>  »f»  »4» 
THE  QUARTETTE 

Yet  the  decoration  of  the  room  had  not  been  wholly 
left  to  the  fancy  of  chance  artists;  a  more  cultured  art 
was  evident  in  the  coloured  woodcuts  representing  the 
seven-branched  candlestick,  Susannah  and  the  Elders, 
the  portrait  of  George  III,  the  Return  of  the  Prodigal 
Son,  the  principal  figures  of  boxing,  the  exploits  of 
Jack  Sheppard  and  Jonathan  Wild,  the  Cid  and  the 
Bernardo  del  Carpio  of  the  picaresque  romancero,  cock- 
fights, matches  between  famous  bulldogs,  Epsom  and 
Newmarket  races,  etc. 

The  hot  stifling  atmosphere,  full  of  miasma  and  coal 
smoke,  tobacco  and  the  strong  smell  of  whiskey,  floated 
through  the  room  and  proved  that  those  who  could  put 
up  with  it  had  very  strong  olfactory  nerves.  Yet  the 
three  or  four  individuals  who  were  in  the  place  did  not 
seem  to  experience  any  annoyance  from  it ;  on  the 
contrary,  their  dull,  vulgar  faces  had  an  expression 
of  coarse  comfort.  They  were  dressed  in  black  coats, 
satin  vests  and  round  hats;  but  before  these  clothes  had 
reached  them  — having  once  perhaps  belonged  to  Beau 
Brummel  —  they  had  evidently  performed  many  a  pil- 
grimage, and  suffered  many  a  misadventure.  These 
tattered  garments,  of  a  cloth  once  lustrous  and  of  a  cut 
still  elegant,  and  which  in  their  degradation  preserved 


53 


JU  »i»  »A»  *l»     »4»     »&*  rV*  «i»  »!■•  «A>    »U  *U        «4i  «1*  «J«*1* 

THE  QUARTETTE 

something  of  the  shape  which  their  first  fashionable 
possessor  had  given  to  them,  formed  a  sadly  comical 
caricature,  a  mute  satirical  poem  full  of  raillery  and 
derision.  One  of  the  men,  however,  did  not  wear  the 
wretched  fashionable  costume.  A  red  woollen  shirt, 
an  oilskin  coat,  and  a  leather  hat  with  a  string  for  a 
chin-strap  formed  his  dress,  —  that  of  a  sailorman.  A 
bold  expression  relieved  the  triviality  and  harshness  of 
his  features,  and  in  his  eyes,  of  a  blue  as  clear  and  cold 
as  that  of  the  Polar  ocean,  shone  a  ray  of  intelligence. 
The  others,  indeed,  seemed  to  address  him  somewhat 
deferentially,  though  he  was  leaning  on  the  same  table 
and  helping  himself  from  the  same  jug  of  half-and-half. 

"  Well,  Saunders,"  said  one  of  the  men  in  black 
coats  to  the  red-shirted  sailor,  "  the  time  is  approach- 
ing when  the  gentleman  for  whom  we  are  to  work  is 
to  come." 

"Yes,"  shortly  answered  Saunders,  who,  while  drink- 
ing, was  busy  kneading  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  some 
black  stuff"  pressed  between  two  pieces  of  cloth. 

"  Do  you  know  the  gentleman,  Saunders  ?  "  went 
on  the  speaker. 

"  No,"  replied  Saunders,  who  plainly  was  fond  of 
monosyllables. 


54 


THE  QUARTETTE 

"  Ah  !  "  added,  by  way  of  closing  the  conversation 
the  black-coated  man,  as  he  leaned  meditatively  on  the 
table. 

Saunders  rose,  and  going  towards  the  fire,  held  out 
to  the  flame  the  dark  substance,  which  he  spread  on 
the  piece  of  linen  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  mask. 

"  Do  you  propose  to  disguise  yourself,  and  to  go 
to  the  masked  ball  with  Handsome  Nancy  ?  "  went  on 
the  obstinate  talker. 

"  I  feel  uncommonly  like  sticking  this  plaster  on 
your  face  and  shutting  up  your  mouth  with  it,  you 
unbearable  talker,"  replied  Saunders,  with  a  growl  as 
fierce  as  that  of  a  white  bear  worried  on  an  ice-floe  by 
a  whaleman's  boat-hook.  "  Instead  of  questioning  me, 
go  and  lift  the  trap  and  see  if  the  others  have  arrived." 

Noll  went  to  one  corner  of  the  room,  removed  a 
trunk  and  a  few  packages,  took  hold  of  a  ring  in  the 
floor,  and  with  the  help  of  his  comrade  Bob,  raised  the 
heavy  trap-door.  As  it  opened,  a  pufF  of  cold,  damp 
air  blew  into  the  room.  Bob  stiffening  his  arms,  which, 
though  thin  and  skinny,  were  very  vigorous,  supported 
the  half-open  trap-door.  Kneeling  on  the  edge  of  the 
opening,  Noll  plunged  his  head  within  the  abyss.  The 
bottom  was  so  obscure  that  nothing  could  be  made  out, 


55 


?fc  4: 4;  &  'k  £  & 4: 4:  *  *  £  £  ^  tfc  £  £  tfc  £  4:  i:  d:  4:  db 

THE  QUARTETTE 

yet  the  strength  and  freshness  of  the  current  of  air  for- 
bade the  supposition  that  this  trap  was  merely  an  open- 
ing into  a  cellar.  By  listening  attentively,  one  might 
discern  in  the  distance  the  low  lipping  of  water. 

"  I  hear  nothing,"  said  Noll,  after  listening  for  a  few 
moments  ;  "  I  shall  give  the  signal."  And  he  uttered 
a  modulated,  guttural  cry  which  sounded  within  the 
recesses  of  the  subterranean  place,  though  nothing 
answered  save  the  echo. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Saunders,  "  we  don't  need  them 
yet,  and  it  is  no  great  fun  to  have  to  wait  under  that 
black  vault.  It  will  be  dark  early  to-day,"  he  con- 
tinued mentally,  looking  towards  the  two  bars  through 
which  one  might  have  perceived  the  heavens  if  the 
fog,  thicker  and  thicker,  had  not  completely  covered 
them.  "All  the  better,  the  job  will  be  so  much  the 
easier.  Bob,  is  the  dray  ready,  the  one  loaded  with 
goods,  which  is  to  obstruct  the  end  of  the  lane  to  pre- 
vent our  being  interrupted  during  our  job  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Master  Saunders,  Cuddy  is  by  his  horses,  and 
will  make  such  a  fine  block  that  a  ferret  itself  could 
not  get  into  the  lane.  He  is  a  clever  fellow.  To  see 
him  got  up  as  he  is,  you  would  swear  that  he  had 
never  done  anything  in  his  life  but  drive  drays,  though 


56 


•1*        rL,  rJ/»  tJL%  »A»  »J-»  »Ai  rA»  *A*  »A-i  rj^el^  rlj        ^»        J*        £§•  fjfa  >1«  »j»<|< 

THE  QUARTETTE 

it  is  not  his  business,"  answered  Bob,  laughing  and 
apparently  delighted  with  his  own  joke.  "You  will 
be  able  to  do  your  work  as  if  you  were  in  a  wood  or 
on  a  desert  shore." 

"  You  are  too  clever  by  half,  Bob,"  answered 
Saunders ;  "  you  won't  live  to  the  day  of  your  death. 
You  look  out." 

While  this  was  going  on  in  the  room  adorned  with  the 
marvellous  drawings  which  I  have  described,  a  narrow, 
light,  fish-like  yawl  pulled  by  four  oarsmen  who  seemed 
worked  by  mechanism,  so  mathematically  synchronous 
were  all  their  movements,  was  ascending  the  Thames 
without  appearing  to  mind  the  roughness  of  the  sea  and 
the  tidal  eddies.  The  oars  struck  the  water  without 
a  single  splash,  and  opened  and  closed  as  easily  as 
a  pretty  woman's  fan.  Although  the  fog,  still  thick- 
ening, made  steering  difficult  and  increased  the 
chances  of  collision  among  the  lines  of  ships  that 
formed  a  floating  city  below  London  Bridge,  the  yawl 
slipped  rapidly  between  the  obstacles  with  incredible 
skill  and  speed.  She  seemed  to  carry  at  her  bows,  so 
great  was  her  divining  sensibility,  the  tentacles  which 
make  certain  insects  foresee  objects,  and  which  are,  as 
it  were,  the  eyes  of  the  sense  of  touch. 


57 


4; £££4;  4:4*4.4;  £4^4;  4;  4. 4? 4.4*4; dbd  tb  tic 

THE  QUARTETTE 

When  it  had  passed  London  Bridge,  the  enormous 
arches  of  which  showed  in  great  black  masses  against 
a  gray  sky,  forming  a  Martyn-like  effect  which  the 
English  call  Babylonian,  and  found  itself  in  a  less 
crowded  reach,  it  flew  along  with  increased  speed. 
It  was  capable,  apparently,  of  ascending  a  weir  or  a 
cascade  like  a  trout. 

Soon  it  passed,  one  after  the  other,  Southwark 
and  Blackfriars  Bridges,  and  hugging  the  shore  more 
closely,  it  ran  past  the  Temple  and  the  Temple 
Gardens ;  shaving  Somerset  House,  it  slipped  under 
Waterloo  Bridge  by  the  arch  nearest  the  bank,  drew 
to  the  side,  and  disappeared  within  a  low  arch  half 
masked  by  the  projections  of  the  buildings  in  the 
centre  of  which  it  was  cut.  A  few  laden  barges 
were  moored  around,  and  the  building,  of  brick  and 
timber,  so  far  as  one  could  make  out  in  the  mist, 
looked  like  a  warehouse. 

The  boat  shot  in  under  the  low  vault,  which  ex- 
tended much  farther  than  might  have  been  supposed, 
as  a  sudden  turn  not  far  from  the  entrance  cleverly 
concealed  its  depth.  After  a  few  minutes  of  careful 
rowing,  the  men  unshipped  their  oars,  and  one  of 
them,  groping  for  a  ring  made  fast  to  the  wall,  found 


58 


«£,    ,1*  .•'•» fX»  *a*  ^^^^^*§**j|?f§*3§»ff**|*  jbsjysf? 

THE  QUARTETTE 

it,  drew  the  painter  through  it,  and  made  the  boat  fast. 
Then,  one  after  another  they  leaped  on  to  the  lower  step, 
half  covered  with  water,  of  a  stair  which  their  knowl- 
edge of  the  place  made  them  find  at  once  in  spite  of 
the  deep  darkness  in  which  they  were  plunged.  An 
iron  grating  which  one  of  the  seamen  opened,  closed 
the  passage  at  this  spot. 

The  stair,  after  rising  thirty  steps,  ended  in  a  ceil- 
ing which  the  first  man  struck  pretty  hard  with  his 
head. 

"  The  devil  take  it !  "  he  said,  "  I  did  n't  count 
right  and  missed  one  step  as  I  came  up.  The  conse- 
quence is  I  have  got  a  bump  on  my  forehead.  Fortu- 
nately, my  skull  is  hard." 

"  Well,  Snuff,  what  has  hit  you  ?  What  are  you 
cursing  about  there  like  an  old  papist  woman  spelling 
her  beads,  instead  of  knocking  on  the  floor  and  giving 
the  signal  ?  Do  you  think  it  is  fun  for  us  behind  you 
on  this  stair  which  is  steeper  than  the  ladder  of  a 
gibbet  ?  " 

"  I  shall  knock  on  the  ceiling  and  call  out  at  the 
same  time." 

A  low  knock  was  soon  heard  through  the  passage 
followed  by  a  prolonged  yell. 


59 


THE  QUARTETTE 

"  Who  is  that  below  the  floor  ?  "  said  Saunders, 
starting  at  the  well-known  sound  and  stamping  with 
his  heel  on  the  trap.  "  Quiet,  you  old  mole,  I  am 
coming,"  he  added,  turning  to  his  own  use  the  speech 
of  Hamlet  to  the  shadow,  for  Saunders  had  recently 
seen  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre  this  play  of  old  Shake- 
speare's, which  had  made  a  deep  impression  on  his 
coarse  but  poetic  nature. 

The  trap-door  was  opened,  and,  thrown  back  on  its 
hinges,  gave  passage  out  of  the  damp  abyss  to  four 
fellows  who,  if  they  did  not  look  quite  respectable,  bore 
at  least  on  their  weather-beaten  faces  a  significantly 
astute  and  bold  expression  indicative  of  energetic 
qualities  applied  perhaps  to  other  than  lawful  ends. 

"  Is  there  any  gin  or  whiskey  left  ?  "  cried  the  first 
man  who  set  foot  on  the  floor,  and  who  at  once  pro- 
ceeded to  the  table  to  ascertain  whether  a  drop  of  the 
precious  liquors  still  remained. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  next  one,  "  when  Noll  and  Bob 
are  seated  opposite  each  other  for  fifteen  minutes  with 
a  bottle  between  them,  the  poor  little  thing  soon  dies 
of  consumption." 

"  Don't  worry,  SnufF,"  answered  Noll,  drawing  a 
full  bottle  from  a  corner.     "  Beelzebub  himself  would 


60 


THE  QUARTETTE 

lick  his  lips  if  he  tasted  this.  It  is  pure  vitriol,  liquid 
fire,  undiluted  by  anything  soft.  I  wonder  if  you  are 
like  me.  The  longer  I  live,  the  weaker  I  think 
gin." 

"  That  is  the  way  of  life,  old  fellow.  The  longer 
you  go,  the  more  you  lose  your  illusions.  We  have 
all  believed  that  gin  was  strong.  What  fools  we  are 
when  we  are  young,"  moaned  Snuff,  as  he  poured 
himself  out  a  bumper  of  blue  ruin. 

The  conversation  had  got  so  far  when  the  stranger 
and  his  guide,  having  first  made  the  signal  agreed  upon, 
entered  the  room.  The  stranger  cast  a  quick  glance 
at  the  worthy  rascals,  who  involuntarily  looked  down, 
except  Saunders,  whose  face  showed  fiercer  among  the 
others.  There  was  in  him  the  stuff  of  a  criminal;  the 
others  were  capable  of  misdemeanours  only ;  he  was 
a  pirate;  the  others  nothing  more  than  thieves.  The 
stranger,  with  the  quickness  of  a  cultivated  mind, 
guessed  that  the  least  ignoble  in  the  company  was 
Saunders.  With  a  single  glance  he  made  him  the 
chief,  and  it  was  to  him  that  he  addressed  himself. 

"  Has  everything  been  prepared  according  to  the 
plan  agreed  upon  ? "  said  the  stranger,  in  a  calm, 
imperative  tone. 

_ 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  Yes,  my  lord,  we  merely  await  your  good  pleas- 
ure," answered  Saunders,  politely,  but  with  no  ser- 
vility. 

"  Good.    The  time  to  act  has  come." 

"  All  right,"  said  Noll  to  Bob ;  "  go  and  tell  Cuddy 
to  enter  the  lane  with  his  dray." 

Bob  went  out,  after  having  tried  to  polish  up  his 
hairless  beaver,  for  he  said  a  man  must  always  en- 
deavour to  look  as  if  he  were  a  man  of  the  world. 
Saunders  arranged  his  pitch  mask  in  the  palm  of  his 
huge  hand  and  prepared  to  follow  him. 

"  The  man  with  whom  I  shall  be  chatting  when  I 
enter  the  lane  is  the  one  you  have  to  carry  off,"  said 
the  stranger;  «  but  above  all,  be  neither  violent  nor 
brutal  to  him." 

"  You  may  rest  assured  of  that,  my  lord.  The  gen- 
tleman will  be  handled  as  delicately  as  a  box  marked 
4  fragile,'  "  replied  Noll  with  all  a  smuggler's  conceit. 

The  men  went  out  one  after  another,  to  avoid  sus- 
picion, and  loafed  in  the  most  natural  fashion  into  the 
deserted  lane.  The  stranger  went  on  by  himself 
towards  Saint  Margaret's  Church. 


62 


THE  QUARTETTE 
IV 

USING  my  privilege  as  a  novelist,  I  shall  pass 
without  any  transition  from  the  sombre  den 
I  have  just  described  to  an  elegant  residence 
in  the  West  End.  This  digression,  far  from  taking 
us  away  from  our  story,  brings  us  back  to  it.  The 
scene  is  very  different,  but  it  is  not  because  I  have 
sought  a  contrast. 

Miss  Annabel  Vyvyan's  maid  had  just  put  the 
finishing  touches  to  her  bridal  dress,  and,  by  way  of 
final  precaution,  was  fixing  with  another  pin,  passed 
through  the  thick  braid  of  brown  hair  on  Annabel's 
head,  a  long  veil  of  English  point-lace  which  fell  in 
transparent  folds  over  the  white  wedding-dress.  Mary 
and  Susan,  the  two  other  maids,  when  they  saw  the 
veil  at  last  adjusted,  took  two  candles  that  were  burn- 
ing on  the  table,  and  held  them  up  so  that  their  young 
mistress  might  conveniently  see  herself  in  the  mirror; 
for  although  it  was  nearly  eleven  in  the  forenoon, 
scarcely  did  a  faint  ray  of  light  penetrate  through  the 


6  3 


THE  QUARTETTE 

windows  and  curtains.  A  yellow,  thick,  choking  fog, 
such  as  is  not  unusual  in  London,  weighed  down  upon 
the  city  and  prolonged  through  the  day  the  shadows 
of  night. 

The  head  which,  illumined  by  the  sudden  radiance 
of  light,  was  reflected  as  if  surrounded  by  an  aureole 
upon  the  dark  background  of  the  mirror,  was  of  a 
beauty  in  no  wise  inferior  to  the  purest  creations  of 
Greek  art.  The  most  striking  thing  about  that  divine 
face  was  the  milky,  marble-like,  dazzling,  luminous 
whiteness,  in  which  the  features  showed  with  the  trans- 
parency and  delicacy  of  Oriental  alabaster.  Although 
it  is  a  habit  of  young  brides  about  to  proceed  to  the 
altar  to  blush  a  rosy  red,  Annabel's  cheeks  were 
scarcely  coloured  bv  a  faint,  rosy  flush  like  that  which 
colours  the  heart  of  a  white  rose.  The  blue  blood  of 
aristocracy  veined  her  delicate  flesh,  a  hothouse  flower 
which  neither  wind  nor  rain  had  ever  fallen  upon,  a 
fine  pulp  composed  of  exquisite  juices  and  pure  ele- 
ments in  which  plebeian  rusticity  had  no  share  what- 
ever. Freedom  from  material  cares,  the  refinements 
of  hereditary  luxury,  the  perfect  comfort  of  life,  the 
living  in  vast  apartments  and  in  country-seats  with 
great  shady  parks  traversed  by  running  waters,  joined 


'•4 


4, 4j  4, 4,  4,  4»  4»  4*  ^  4^  4^  4»  4^  4*  4»  4»  4» 4»  »l j  *1  j  »|j  »!j  !?; 

THE  QUARTETTE 

to  the  purity  of  the  race,  often  bring  beauty  to  unimagin- 
able perfection.  The  living  marble  in  which  are 
carved  these  beautiful  bodies  has  no  rival  in  the  world 
for  its  brilliancy,  its  fineness,  and  the  transparency  of 
the  grain.  The  quarries  of  the  human  Paros  and  Pen- 
telicus  are  found  in  ancient  Albion,  so  called  rather  on 
account  of  its  women  than  of  its  cliffs.  Annabel  was 
the  fairest  maid  in  that  swans'  nest  anchored  in 
mid-ocean. 

Two  delicate  black  eyebrows  met  at  the  root  of  the 
nose,  —  which  a  slight  aquiline  inflection  made  more 
noble  than  a  Greek  nose,  without  depriving  it  of  any 
portion  of  its  exquisite  form,  —  and  crowned  two  eyes 
of  an  intense,  warm  brown,  the  pupils  of  which  floated 
on  a  crystal  limpidly  blue.  Lips  of  a  bright  red 
showed  like  a  carnation  in  her  pallor,  which  became 
all  the  more  marked  and  striking  on  that  account. 
Down  Annabel's  lovely  cheeks  fell  two  soft,  silky  lus- 
trous curls  which  she  twisted  around  her  finger.  In 
giving  this  last  touch  to  her  toilet  she  showed  a  hand 
of  charming  shape,  narrow,  somewhat  long,  with  slen- 
der fingers  ending  in  polished  nails  brilliant  as  jade, 
and  of  irreproachable  aristocratic  purity.  Such  hands, 
that  drive  to  despair  the  new-made  rich,  are  the  product 


5 


65 


t«?  ts7  Cs?  tj?  •£?        t*?  ^7  ifc  *4«  r|»  rU  JU  r4*  «j«  •£«  «j*  •£» 

THE  QUARTETTE 

of  centuries  of  elegant  life  and  are  transmitted  like 
diamonds  from  generation  to  generation. 

Apparently,  Annabel  was  satisfied  with  her  looks, 
for  a  faint  smile  flitted  over  her  serious  face,  and  turn- 
ing towards  Fanny  she  said  in  a  voice  as  harmonious 
as  music :  "  Fanny,  you  have  surpassed  yourself  to-day. 
I  really  do  not  look  badly." 

"  You  are  not  difficult  to  dress,  Miss  —  for  I  may 
still  call  you  so.    You  become  your  gowns  so  well." 

"  You  flatterer !    What  o'clock  is  it  ?  " 

"Just  eleven,"  answered  Fanny,  after  having  glanced 
at  a  clock  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl  and  standing 
upon  a  pedestal. 

"  Eleven  o'clock  already,  and  my  aunt  Lady  Eleanor 
Braybrooke  has  not  arrived  !  " 

"  I  think,"  replied  Fanny,  "  that  I  hear  a  carriage 
stopping  at  the  door.    It  must  be  Lady  Eleanor." 

A  thunder  of  raps  sounded  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
house  as  Fanny  ended,  betokening  the  arrival  of  an 
important  personage.  A  few  minutes  later  a  powdered, 
silk-stockinged  footman  announced,  as  he  raised  the 
portiere  :  — 

"  Lady  Eleanor  Braybrooke." 

A  majestic,  stiff-looking  woman,  of  that  age  politely 


bb 


4;  4;  4^  4j  4«  4»  4«  4»  4;  4»  ^»  4fr         jjj  4y  4;  4»  4;  4;  4j  4;  4»  4j 

THE  QUARTETTE 

called  a  certain  age,  entered  the  room  with  such 
automatic  stiffness  that  her  thick  silk  dress  did  not 
undulate  in  the  least.  She  seemed  to  be  moved  by 
internal  wheels  and  to  be  advancing  on  little  brass 
casters  like  the  dolls  which  a  concealed  mechanism 
drives  around  a  table.  The  corselet  which  moulded 
her  charms,  developed  by  the  stoutness  of  her  fourth 
youth,  would  have  warded  off  a  lance-thrust  as  surely 
as  Milanese  mail,  so  well  reinforced  was  it  with  whale- 
bone, steel,  and  other  compressive  materials.  How  in 
the  world  the  lady  had  managed  to  get  herself  into  that 
sheath  is  a  mystery  of  her  toilet  which  I  shall  respect, 
but  she  must  have  undergone  a  pressure  of  forty  atmos- 
pheres to  attain  the  result. 

Her  broad,  square  face  was  diapered  with  all  the 
colours  of  an  eruption.  Her  cheeks  flamed,  her  nose 
was  almost  like  a  live  coal,  her  very  brow  was  red. 
Her  incandescent  face  was  framed  in  by  hair  of  a 
British  auburn  fiercely  curled,  and  resembling  filaments 
of  vegetable  silks  rather  than  human  hair.  Her  ex- 
pression would  have  been  almost  coarse  but  for  two 
eyes  of  a  hard,  cold  steel-gray  which  relieved  the 
commonplaceness  by  their  disdainful  and  imperative 
look.     That  glance  of  hers  stamped  her  as  a  great 


67 


THE  QUARTETTE 

lady,  a  woman  in  high  life,  in  spite  of  the  heaviness  of 
her  shape  and  the  brilliancy  of  her  complexion. 

Lady  Eleanor  Braybrooke  was  a  widow,  and  acted 
as  chaperon  to  her  niece,  Miss  Annabel  Vyvyan,  who 
when  quite  young  had  been  left  an  orphan  and  absolute 
mistress  of  a  large  fortune.  In  the  important  ceremony 
which  was  about  to  take  place,  Lady  Eleanor  Bray- 
brooke was  to  act  the  part  of  the  mother. 

Miss  Annabel  was  about  to  be  married,  although 
not  very  romantically,  no  obstacle  having  come  in  the 
way,  to  a  charming  young  fellow,  Sir  Benedict  Arun- 
del, who  loved  her  and  whom  she  had  been  in  love 
with  for  nearly  a  year.  He  was  young  and  handsome, 
noble  and  rich ;  the  match  was  entirely  suitable  in 
every  respect,  since  the  bride  possessed  precisely  the 
same  qualities. 

"  Look,  aunt  !  what  a  horrid  fog  !  "  said  Miss 
Annabel,  turning  her  lovely  eyes  to  the  window. 

"  At  the  beginning  of  November  that  is  not  astonish- 
ing," replied  Lady  Eleanor. 

"  No  doubt.  But  I  should  have  liked  for  this  day, 
the  loveliest  in  my  life,  an  azure  sky,  a  bright  sun,  the 
perfumes  of  flowers  and  the  songs  of  birds." 

"  My  dear,  if  you  have  a  room  with  good  hangings, 


68 


 THE  QUARTETTE 

plenty  of  tapers,  a  bright  fire  in  the  grate,  a  bottle  of 
scent  and  an  Erard  piano  you  can  dispense  with  all 
these  things.  I  never  trouble  about  the  weather,  for 
my  own  part." 

"You  are  always  practical,  aunt." 

"  And  you  always  poetic,  my  niece." 

" 1  wish  nature  shared  our  feelings  more.  The  sad- 
ness of  the  heavens  weighs  down  on  my  happy  soul." 

"  My  dear  child,  if  God  at  your  request  were 
suddenly  to  remove  the  fog,  the  splendour  of  the  sun- 
shine might  perhaps  strike  some  suffering  heart  as 
ironical." 

"  That  is  true,  aunt,  but  I  cannot  help  being  a  little 
nervous  this  morning." 

"Well,  Sir  Benedict  Arundel  will  soon  relieve  you 
of  that,"  answered  Lady  Eleanor  Braybrooke,  with  the 
equivocal,  wrinkled  smile  people  of  her  age  are  too 
fond  of  indulging  in. 

The  sound  of  a  carriage  was  heard  under  the  window, 
and  very  soon  Sir  Benedict  Arundel  appeared. 

He  was  dressed  quietly  and  plainly,  with  that  ex- 
quisite perfection  characteristic  of  the  perfect  gentle- 
man, which  never  draws  the  eye,  and  the  secret  of 
which  the  English  alone  possess.    He  had  avoided  the 


69 


THE  QUARTETTE 


almost  insurmountable  ridicule  of  wedding  garments, 
and  yet  his  costume  was  such  as  became  the  solemnity 
of  the  occasion.  In  accordance  with  the  custom  of 
the  day,  he  wore  neither  beard,  moustache,  nor  royal, 
nor  any  of  the  ornaments  which  bristle  upon  the  faces 
of  men  on  the  continent.  His  smooth,  polished  face 
was  surrounded  by  dark-brown  whiskers,  carefullv 
curled,  which  an  artist  fond  of  the  picturesque  might 
have  thought  too  regular,  but  which  would  certainly 
have  obtained  the  approval  of  the  late  Brummel  and 
Count  d'Orsay.  He  had  the  Antinoiis  features,  some- 
what long  and  cold,  which  the  great  families  of  Eng- 
land often  exhibit,  and  his  head  looked  like  a  copy  of  that 
of  some  Greek  god  made  by  Westmacott  or  Chantrev. 
It  was  impossible  to  imagine  a  better-matched  pair. 

The  cloud  on  Annabel's  brow  vanished  at  the  sight 
of  her  betrothed  ;  the  blue  eyes  of  Benedict  were  azure 
enough  for  any  heaven.  A  pure  joy  illumined  the 
charming  face  of  the  young  girl,  as  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  Benedict,  who  kissed  it.  Lady  Eleanor  Bray- 
brooke's  gray  eyes  sparkled  at  the  picture,  that  no 
doubt  recalled  a  similar  scene  in  which  she  had  played 
a  part,  but  so  long  ago  that  it  certainly  required  an 
excellent  memory  to  remember  it. 


jo 


irdb£  &  i:  4:  4r  &  "k  4: 4:  4:  4:  4: 4:  4:  4:4:4: 

THE  QUARTETTE  

"  That  is  just  the  way  we  were,"  she  whispered  to 
herself,  "  dear  Sir  George  Alan  Braybrooke  and  I,  some 
twenty  years  ago  or  so." 

The  "  or  so "  was  rather  enigmatical,  but  Lady 
Eleanor  did  not  care  to  state  more  accurately,  even 
to  herself,  any  date  which  might  have  given  the  exact 
number  of  her  years.  That  mental  comparison  would 
have  occurred  to  no  one  but  the  good  lady,  for  when 
young  she  had  not  even  the  devil's  beauty,  and  Sir 
George  Alan  Braybrooke,  tall,  thin,  stiff,  bony,  with  a 
square  chin,  a  nose  like  Wellington's  and  a  square-cut 
mouth,  had  never  resembled,  even  in  the  days  when 
he  was  a  lover,  the  elegant  Benedict  Arundel. 

"  Come,  children,  it  is  time  to  go,"  went  on  Lady 
Eleanor.  "  The  chaplain  has  no  doubt  already  put  on 
his  surplice,  and  the  guests  are  arriving  in  numbers." 
She  entered  her  carriage  with  Annabel,  and  Benedict 
took  a  seat  in  his  own  with  William  Bawtry,  a  friend 
of  his. 

The  coachmen,  powdered  and  beribboned,  wearing 
huge  bouquets,  their  scarlet  faces  made  more  crimson 
still  by  numerous  libations  to  the  health  of  the  future 
pair  and  their  descendants,  took  up  the  reins  with  an 
incomparably  grand  air,  clucked  their  tongues,  touched 


.  (  .       .1,  ,1,  rjL        ,1,  rl-.  «4*  -K  JU  <4_i  ri,  r|»  *k  ^  »k  ^*  ti?  ti?  til' 

THE  QUARTETTE 

up  their  horses,  and  the  procession  started  for  the 
church.  The  sun  had  made  useless  efforts  to  dispel 
the  fog  brought  down  by  the  west  wind  upon  the  city 
of  London,  and  its  pale,  rayless  orb  scarcely  indicated 
its  place  in  the  heavens  by  a  livid  spot  liker  the  face 
of  a  sick  man  than  the  brilliant  star  of  day.  The  gas 
lamps,  still  lighted,  gave  out  beams  almost  immediately 
swallowed  up  by  the  fog.  At  a  short  distance  the 
various  objects,  showing  faint,  assumed  strange,  fan- 
tastic forms.  The  carriages  loomed  like  leviathans 
and  behemoths,  the  passers-by  like  giant  phantoms ; 
the  sombre  walls  of  the  buildings  assumed  the  appear- 
ance of  Babel,  and  it  took  all  the  skill  of  the  coachmen 
not  to  lose  their  way  through  the  opaque  air  in  which 
sonorous  vibrations  were  deadened  and  which  seemed 
to  have  covered  the  streets  with  a  pall  of  clouds. 

The  church  where  the  wedding  was  to  take  place 
was  Saint  Margaret's,  a  building  in  the  Norman-Gothic 
style,  with  a  square  tower,  great  buttresses,  and  a  huge 
quatrefoiled  window.  The  building  was  lugubrious  to 
look  at,  with  its  walls  black  as  ebony  ;  the  mouldings, 
washed  by  the  rain,  always  appeared  to  be  covered  with 
snow.  It  rose  in  the  centre  of  a  graveyard  without  any 
verdure  and  strewn  with  tombs,  the  shape  of  which, 


72 


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THE  QUARTETTE 

faintly  recalling  that  of  a  body,  had  a  sinister  and 
horrible  look.  A  railing,  which  the  coal-dust  given  out 
by  the  hundred  thousand  chimneys  of  London  made 
more  sooty  than  the  air-holes  of  hell,  surrounded  this 
God's  acre,  made  more  gloomy  still  by  the  near  bustle 
of  the  city.  The  high  tower  rose  with  its  crown  of 
invisible  finials  in  the  fog  and  seemed  to  have  been  cut 
off.  The  porch,  sombre  and  smoky  like  an  oven, 
opened  its  wide  gates,  looking  like  the  mouth  of  an  ore 
or  some  other  huge  animal  breathing  vapour  out  of  its 
nostrils.  The  fog  which  filled  the  great  nave  seemed 
to  be  the  breath  of  the  architectural  monster.  Un- 
questionably, without  being  superstitious,  a  young 
couple  might  very  well,  at  the  sight  of  this  lugubrious 
church,  entertain  some  doubts  as  to  their  future  hap- 
piness. One  shuddered  unavoidably  on  entering  this 
church  darker  than  Erebus,  and  within  the  depths  of 
which  shone  no  beam  of  light,  no  star  of  hope.  Cer- 
tainly it  would  have  been  unjust  to  ask  of  an  old  and 
wretched  Protestant  church  in  London,  at  the  end  of 
September  on  a  foggy  day,  the  bright  and  happy  look 
of  an  antique  temple  with  its  white  columns  showing 
against  the  blue  of  an  Athenian  sky  ;  but  the  truth  is 
that  that  morning  Saint  Margaret's  looked  more  like  a 


73 


THE  QUARTETTE 


sepulchral  vault  prepared  for  the  reception  of  the  dead 
than  a  church  in  which  a  loving  couple  was  to  be 
married. 

"  Well,"  said  Sir  William  Bawtry  to  his  friend  Sir 
Benedict  Arundel  in  their  carriage,  "  so  it  is  true  that 
you  are  going  to  be  married  at  twenty-four,  in  the 
flower  of  your  age,  when  so  long  a  life  of  pleasure  and 
enjoyment  was  still  open  to  you  ! " 

"At  twenty-four,  —  you  are  right,  dear  William. 
Marriage  is  a  piece  of  folly  which  one  should  not 
commit  save  when  young." 

"  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion,  and  besides,  Annabel 
justifies  your  prompt  resolution  ;  but  when  we  were 
together  at  Cambridge  no  one  would  have  ventured  to 
predict  that  you  would  be  the  first  of  our  jolly  band  to 
be  caught  in  the  trap  of  wedlock." 

While  Sir  William  Bawtry  and  Sir  Benedict  Arun- 
del were  thus  chatting  as  they  drove  to  the  Church  of 
Saint  Margaret,  a  man  who  had  left  the  neighbouring 
street  slipped  under  the  sombre  porch  and  stood  against 
the  wall  between  two  pillars  like  the  stone  statue  of  a 
saint.  He  wore  a  broad-brimmed  hat  pulled  down  over 
his  eyes,  and  the  end  of  his  travelling-cloak  thrown 
over  his  shoulder  concealed  the  lower  part  of  his  face. 


74 


JL«4*  JLi  r£*  <4«  «|*  »i»  ^  »a»  ^ly*^*  j^«j**j|**fg  tt?tlrti?i!?tt?tif  «lf  Jbsfc 

 THE  QUARTETTE  

What  was  visible  of  his  features  appeared  to  be  tanned 
by  the  sun  of  other  climes. 

After  a  few  moments  of  dreamy  motionlessness  he 
freed  one  of  his  hands  from  the  folds  of  his  cloak,  and 
pulling  out  a  large  flat  watch,  he  said  to  himself : 
"  This  is  the  hour,  they  will  soon  come."  And  he 
put  back  the  watch  into  his  pocket.  Of  whom  were 
these  words,  murmured  with  a  strange  accent,  spoken  ? 

The  carriages,  turning  the  corner  of  the  street,  now 
arrived  before  the  porch  of  the  church.  Then  the 
man,  whom  my  readers  have  already  recognized  as  the 
eager  traveller,  threw  back  his  cloak  and  seemed  to  take 
a  firmer  stand,  like  one  approaching  a  supreme  crisis. 

The  steps  of  the  carriage  were  lowered.  Annabel, 
leaning  slightly  on  Benedict's  hand,  was  about  to  de- 
scend and  enter  the  porch,  when  the  stranger,  having 
bowed  deeply  to  the  bride,  touched  Arundel's  arm. 
The  latter  turned  around  abruptly,  astonished  at  such 
an  interruption  at  such  a  time,  for,  as  he  was  turning 
his  back  to  the  church,  he  had  not  seen  the  man  with 
the  mantle  coming  forward. 

"  Sidney  !  "  cried  Benedict,  on  recovering  from  his 
first  amazement. 

"  In  person,"  replied  gravely  the  man  thus  addressed. 


75 


tjLt  »4»  »A»         »!-.  »l»  *t»         rA^         *4»  »4» »|»  »ij  »lj  «4»  »ij  »A»        »4j  »ij  »ij  j|» 

THE  QUARTETTE 

"  And  I,  who  accused  you  of  indifference!  And  so 
you  have  come  from  India  to  be  present  at  my  wed- 
ding !  That  is  why  you  did  not  reply  to  my  letters, 
—  you  wanted  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of  a  surprise." 

"  Benedict,  I  have  a  single  word  to  say  to  you,  and 
it  is  for  that  I  have  come." 

"  Well,  you  can  tell  me  presently.  I  shall  introduce 
you  to  my  wife,  —  and  indeed,  you  are  already  pre- 
sented to  her.    Lady  Arundel,  Sir  Arthur  Sidney." 

"  No,  I  must  speak  to  you  at  once  and  alone,  if  but 
for  a  moment." 

There  was  something  so  firm  in  Sidney's  look  and 
so  imperious  an  accent  in  his  voice  that  Benedict  hesi- 
tatingly let  fall  Annabel's  hand  and  drew  towards  his 
friend. 

K  Your  ladyship  will  be  kind  enough  to  pardon  my 
insisting,"  said  Sidney,  seizing  Benedict's  arm  with  a 
smile  of  affected  grace.  "  I  have  but  a  word  to  say  to 
him."  And  he  drew  Benedict  to  the  corner  of  the 
church  at  the  entrance  to  the  little  street  that  leads  up 
one  side  of  it. 

Annabel  had  sat  down  by  her  aunt,  Lady  Eleanor 
Braybrooke,  who  grumbled  at  this  untimely  inter- 
ruption. 


76 


THE  QUARTETTE 

"  Most  improper,  to  turn  up  from  India  in  that 
way,  to  intercept  a  bridegroom  at  the  very  threshold 
of  the  church  !  A  nice  time  he  has  chosen  to  talk  his 
nonsense !  " 

"  Sir  Arthur  Sidney  is  an  eccentric  man  who  never 
does  anything  like  any  one  else,"  replied  Annabel. 
"  Benedict  has  often  told  me  how  queer  he  is." 
'  "  But  a  well-bred  man  ought  not  to  have  any  eccen- 
tric friends,"  replied  Lady  Braybrooke,  in  the  most 
majestically  disdainful  tone. 

Annabel  smiled  at  her  aunt's  proud  indignation. 

"  I  should  not,"  continued  the  dowager,  whose  face 
had  turned  crimson,  —  "  I  should  not  have  allowed  Sir 
George  Alan  Braybrooke  to  leave  me  at  the  moment 
of  leading  me  to  the  altar,  were  it  for  the  empire  of 
the  world.  But  the  word  which  Mr.  Sidney  had  to 
say  seems  to  be  pretty  long." 

Lady  Braybrooke's  reflection  had  already  occurred  to 
Annabel,  for  she  put  her  head,  crowned  with  virginal 
flowers,  out  of  the  window  of  the  carriage  to  see  if 
Benedict  had  returned.  But  no  one  yet  appeared  at 
the  corner  of  the  church,  the  most  distant  point  to 
which  the  fog  allowed  the  glance  to  reach.  The  posi- 
tion was  becoming  singularly  ridiculous. 


77 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Helped  by  Sir  William  Bawtry,  Annabel  and  Lady 
Braybrooke  got  out  of  the  carriage  and  took  shelter 
under  the  porch.  Sir  William  offered  to  notify 
Benedict  and  Sidney  of  the  impropriety  of  such  a 
conversation  prolonged  so  long. 

The  guests,  already  astonished,  surrounded  Miss 
Vy vyan,  and  advised  her  to  enter  the  nave ;  the  pas- 
sers-by were  beginning  to  look  with  surprise  at  the 
beautiful  girl  dressed  in  white,  a  bride  without  a  groom, 
standing  under  the  dark  porch. 

As  she  entered  the  church,  Annabel  felt  on  her 
shoulders,  scarcely  covered  by  the  thin  lace  veil,  a 
damp,  cloister-like  chill;  she  seemed  to  be  enveloped 
forever  in  the  cold  of  the  convent  and  the  sepulchre. 
She  had  a  presentiment  that  she  was  passing  from  light 
into  shadow,  from  bustle  into  silence,  from  life  into 
death.  She  thought  she  felt  breaking  within  her  the 
spring  of  her  life. 

Sir  William  Bawtry  returned  pale,  thunder-struck, 
not  knowing  which  way  to  look.  He  had  traversed 
in  all  its  length  the  lane  entered  by  Benedict  and  Sid- 
ney, had  been  round  the  church  and  had  examined 
every  spot,  but  Benedict  and  Sidney  had  disappeared. 


78 


THE  QUARTETTE 


V 

AT  about  the   same  time  when  Annabel  was 
finishing  dressing,  in  another  London  house 
another  young  girl  was  also  putting  on,  but 
slowly  and  as  if  regretfully,  her  white  wedding-robes. 

She  was  beautiful  and  extremely  pale ;  faint  violet 
lines  showed  upon  her  eyelids  and  gave  proof  of  tears 
recently  shed,  the  traces  of  which  the  corner  of  her 
handkerchief,  dipped  in  fresh  water,  had  not  caused  to 
disappear  completely.  Her  drawn  mouth  tried  to  smile, 
but  the  corners  of  her  lips  turned  up  with  an  effort 
only  to  draw  down  again  with  pain.  Short,  painful 
breathing  made  her  bosom  heave,  and  when  the  maid 
approached  to  place  upon  her  brow  the  wreath  of 
orange  flowers,  a  slight  flush  coloured  her  pale  cheeks. 

Miss  Edith  Harley  looked  more  like  a  victim  being 
prepared  for  sacrifice  than  a  maiden  going  to  the  altar 
to  freely  pledge  her  love  and  faith.  Yet  Edith  was  not 
the  victim  of  stern  parents  :  neither  a  barbarous  father 
nor  an  ill-tempered  mother  compelled  her  choice.  Her 


79 


THE  QUARTETTE 


lovely,  delicate  hand  was  not  being  forcibly  put  into 
the  gouty  hand  of  an  obscene  and  abominable  old  man. 
The  man  whom  she  was  about  to  marry,  Lord  de  Vol- 
merange,  was  young,  handsome,  charming,  and  of  an 
excellent  family  ;  in  a  word,  all  that  the  most  practical 
parents  and  the  most  romantic  girl  could  wish.  Edith 
had  even  appeared  to  accept  willingly  the  attentions  of 
Count  de  Volmerange,  and  in  the  interviews  which  had 
preceded  their  betrothal,  her  eyes  had  often  turned 
towards  the  young  lord  with  an  indefinable  expression 
of  melancholy  and  love ;  though  usually  his  presence 
threw  her  into  a  state  of  agitation  and  anxiety  visible 
only  to  an  observer,  and  which  did  not  agree  with  cer- 
tain glances  full  of  fire,  strange  in  a  young  girl  other- 
wise apparently  so  modest. 

Did  she  hate  or  did  she  love  de  Volmerange  ?  That 
was  a  mystery  difficult  to  solve.  If  she  did  not  love 
him,  why  did  she  marry  him  ?  If  she  did  love  him, 
why  was  she  so  pale,  weeping,  and  cast  down  ?  An 
only  child,  worshipped  by  her  father  and  mother,  she 
had  but  to  say  a  word  to  have  the  marriage  broken  off'. 
Why  should  she  not  say  it  ?  Any  man  of  her  choice 
would  have  been  accepted  by  Lord  Harley  and  his 
wife,  for,  having  no  other  desire  than  to  make  their 

80 


THE  QUARTETTE 

daughter  happy,  no  prejudices  of  caste  could  have 
induced  them  to  force  her  inclinations  ;  they  would 
have  accepted  a  poet  even. 

When  Edith's  maids  had  done  their  work,  which 
was  delayed  by  the  uneasiness  and  the  preoccupation  of 
the  girl,  who  unwillingly  yielded  herself  up  to  them, 
she  signed  that  she  was  tired  and  wished  to  remain 
alone  for  a  few  moments. 

As  soon  as  the  women  had  withdrawn,  a  slight  knock, 
which  might  have  been  mistaken  for  the  sound  made 
behind  the  hangings  by  the  insect  vulgarly  called  the 
death  beetle,  as  it  strikes  the  wall  with  its  antennae  to 
call  its  female,  sounded  in  the  corner  of  the  room  in  a 
place  where  was  a  condemned  door.  On  hearing  the 
sound,  evidently  a  signal,  Edith  started  as  if  she  had 
not  been  forewarned.  A  look  of  deep  anxiety  darkened 
her  face,  and  she  rose  abruptly  from  the  arm-chair  in 
which  she  had  thrown  herself.  A  second  knock 
sounded  a  little  louder,  though  yet  low. 

Presently  the  young  girl  staggered  towards  the  door, 
pressing  her  hands  to  her  heart,  the  beating  of  which 
stifled  her. 

A  third,  sharp,  imperious  knock,  in  which  annoyance 
prevailed  over  the  fear  of  being  heard  by  any  one  else 

6  81 


 THE  QUARTETTE 

than  Edith,  testified  to  the  impatience  of  the  mysteri- 
ous visitor. 

Poor  Edith  moved  away  a  small  piece  of  furniture 
which  half  masked  the  false  door,  and  drew  the  bolts 
with  a  trembling  hand.  A  key,  working  from  outside, 
sounded  in  the  lock,  and  the  leaf,  half  opened  and 
at  once  closed,  gave  passage  to  a  man  who  was  not 
Count  de  Volmerange. 

The  man  who  so  singularly  and  so  secretly  entered 
the  room  of  a  maiden  who  in  a  few  hours  was  to  be 
another's  wife,  had  a  face  which  at  first  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  characterise.  His  slightly  olive  com- 
plexion with  its  mat  tone  brought  out  two  singularly 
mobile  eyes,  the  expression  of  which  was  purposely 
deadened.  His  mouth  was  well  shaped,  but  the  thin, 
closely  compressed  lips  seemed  to  preserve  a  secret, 
and  the  lower  lip,  frequently  bitten,  betokened  re- 
pressed impulses  and  necessary  restraint  accepted  by 
the  will,  but  not  by  the  blood.  The  nose,  too  thin  in 
outline,  too  pointed  in  spite  of  its  good  shape,  gave  an 
astute  expression  to  the  rest  of  the  face.  It  was  a 
head  in  which  no  defect  could  be  found,  which  one 
was  inclined  to  say  was  handsome,  but  which  yet  pro- 
duced an  unaccountably  repellent  effect.    It  attracted 


82 


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THE  QUARTETTE 

and  repelled  at  one  and  the  same  time  by  a  sort  of 
dangerous  grace,  of  troublous  charm.  The  colours 
which  shine  brightly  upon  a  bird's  wing  assume,  on 
the  spotted  skin  of  a  serpent,  without  losing  any  of  their 
brilliancy,  an  evil,  venomous  tint  which  is  beautiful  but 
terrifying.  The  man  to  whom  Miss  Edith  had  just 
opened  a  door  closed  to  every  one  had  the  beauty  of  the 
viper  and  the  grace  of  the  tiger.  It  would  have  been 
difficult  to  tell  his  age.  His  smooth  brow  had  none  of  the 
wrinkles,  none  of  the  marks  made  by  years  on  a  human 
face ;  he  might  have  been  a  mere  youth  but  for  his  icy 
coldness  and  lack  of  spontaneity,  signs  of  dissimulation 
long  practised.    His  was  not  a  face,  it  was  a  mask. 

His  dress  was  black  and  neutral  brown,  quietly 
elegant,  not  drawing  the  eye  by  any  detail  and  leaving 
no  impression  on  the  memory. 

There  was  a  moment  of  painful  silence.  Edith, 
embarrassed,  seemed  to  wait  until  the  stranger  should 
speak,  but  the  latter  did  not  appear  disposed  to  save 
her  the  trouble.  His  attitude  was  respectful  rather  by 
habit  than  from  real  deference,  and  he  cast  straight  at 
the  girl  a  masterful  glance. 

"  So  you  persist,"  said  Edith,  making  an  effort,  "  in 
wishing  me  to  be  Count  de  Volmerange's  wife  ?  " 


83 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  I  shall  certainly  not  change  my  intention  now. 
The  wedding  is  more  necessary  than  ever." 

"And  yet  you  know  that  it  is  impossible." 

"It  is  so  absolutely  impossible  that  in  two  hours  it 
will  have  taken  place." 

"  Listen,  Xavier,  there  is  still  time.  Do  not  force 
me  to  act  a  lie  before  God  and  man.  I  can  throw 
myself  at  my  parents'  feet,  confess  everything,  and 
obtain  forgiveness  for  myself  —  and  you.  My  crime 
is  great,  but  their  indulgence  is  boundless." 

"You  shall  not  do  it.    I  would  give  you  the  lie." 

"  Even  if  I  took  all  the  blame  on  myself?  " 

"  I  should  maintain  that  I  was  always  a  stranger  to 
you." 

"  But  I  have  proofs  that  can  confound  you,"  cried 
Edith  indignantly,  as  she  hastened  to  a  small  box,  the 
concealed  bottom  of  which  she  opened. 

"  You  think  so,  do  you,"  answered  Xavier,  with  an 
ironical  smile  playing  over  his  thin  lips. 

With  a  convulsive  hand  Edith  rummaged  violently 
in  the  box,  from  which  she  withdrew  some  papers  that, 
by  the  way  they  were  folded,  seemed  to  be  letters. 
She  opened  one  and  cast  it  down.  It  was  blank  ;  a 
second  and  a  third  were  the  same;  then  she  dropped 


84 


£  4.  4.  4;  4;  4.  4-  4:  4;  £  4*  4k  4k  4.  4;  4.  4j  4;  4.  4;  4?  £  4;  4* 

THE  QUARTETTE 

the  parcel  and  her  arms  fell  by  her  side.  Every  trace 
of  writing  had  disappeared  ;  the  letters  were  now  simply 
plain  sheets  of  paper. 

"  Happily  your  ink,  Miss  Edith,  was  intended  to  last 
longer  than  mine.  The  precious  characters  traced  by 
your"  lovely  hand  are  quite  visible  on  the  letters  which 
you  condescended  to  write  to  me." 

"  Xavier,  there  is  in  all  this  a  riddle  which  I  cannot 
read.  I  am  young  and  beautiful ;  you  have  told  me  so 
in  more  ways  than  did  the  serpent  to  Eve.  The  one 
fault  I  have  committed  was  for  your  sake.  You  alone 
have  the  right  to  consider  me  innocent.  My  fortune 
is  great,  my  family  bears  one  of  the  most  honoured 
names  in  England  and  has  never  been  disgraced  by  any 
one  but  me.  This  unsuspected  stain  you  can  wash 
away  with  a  word.  You  have  no  other  resources  than 
those  of  your  education,  which  makes  you  worthy  of  a 
rank  far  higher  than  that  which  you  now  occupy.  If 
you  marry  me,  a  new  world  will  open  before  you  : 
you  shall  pass  from  darkness  into  light,  your  life  will 
broaden  out ;  you  will  be  able  to  use  in  a  great  sphere 
the  talents  you  possess.  What  has  been  a  dream  will 
become  a  reasonable  wish ;  politics  and  diplomacy  have 
nothing  too  high  for  you." 


85 


££4;  £4;  ££££££££££££££££££.& 

THE  QUARTETTE 


As  Edith  spoke,  Xavier's  pale  face  flushed,  his  eyes, 
which  he  no  longer  deadened,  flashed  j  he  followed  in 
his  mind  the  young  girl  into  the  regions  which  she 
showed  him  as  if  to  tempt  him  and  to  obtain  from 
ambition  what  she  had  failed  to  get  from  love.  Once 
indeed  he  seized  Edith's  hand,  and  grasped  it  firmly; 
but  the  impulse  was  of  short  duration,  the  brilliancy  of 
his  eyes  died  out,  over  his  face  spread  again  the  gloomy 
look  which  concealed  the  emotions  of  his  soul,  and  he 
went  on  in  an  icy  tone  :  — 

"  You  shall  marry  Count  de  Volmerange." 

"  Your  refusal,  which  I  fail  to  understand,  can  have 
but  one  cause.  In  that  case  there  is  no  remedy  for 
my  misfortune.  Perhaps  you  have  already  a  wife  in 
France." 

"  No,"  replied  Xavier,  in  a  strange  tone,  "  neither 
in  France  nor  elsewhere.    I  am  a  bachelor." 

Edith,  who  until  then  had  supplicated  him,  rose  and 
with  the  most  dignified  and  majestic  air  said  to  the 
young  man  :  "  It  is  not  through  love  for  you  that  I 
have  so  earnestly  entreated  you.  You  fascinated  me, 
but  I  have  never  loved  you.  You  acted  on  me  as  a 
philter  or  a  poison  might  do,  and  I  am  no  more  guilty 
than  if  a  potion  had  robbed  me  of  my  senses.     I  have 


86 


THE  QUARTETTE 

never  loved  you,  thank  God  !  I  am  proud  of  it.  It 
is  my  one  consolation.  My  eyes,  blinded  for  one 
moment,  were  quickly  opened.  When  I  heard  the 
true  eloquence  of  the  heart,  when  I  saw  the  heaven's 
light  shining  in  a  true  man's  look,  I  saw  at  once  that  I 
had  been  the  prey  and  the  sport  of  a  demon,  and  I 
loved  Count  de  Volmerange  as  much  as  I  hated  you, 
I  esteemed  him  as  highly  as  I  despised  you.  Yes, 
I  love  him  madly,  with  all  the  strength  of  my  heart 
and  soul,"  added  Miss  Edith  Harley,  insisting  cruelly, 
as  she  saw  Xavier's  pale  face  turning  green  ;  "  and  I 
desired  to  spare  him  the  shame  of  marrying  a  girl 
whom  you  have  soiled.  But  I  shall  tell  him  every- 
thing ;  he  will  forgive  me  and  avenge  me.  And  now, 
sir,  go,  or  I  shall  ring  and  have  you  thrown  out  of  the 
window  !  "  she  cried  in  a  tone  which  betokened  the 
revolt  of  her  aristocratic  blood. 

As  she  said  these  words,  she  advanced  one  step,  and 
Xavier,  as  if  blasted  by  the  blaze  of  indignation  that 
flashed  from  Edith's  eyes,  staggered  back  through  the 
door,  which  closed  violently  upon  him.  The  last 
glance  of  the  wretch  was  like  that  of  the  serpent 
which  feels  the  lion's  claw  in  its  back.  Edith  shot 
the  bolts,  put  back  the  furniture,  and  the  sound  of 


87 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Xavier's  steps  died  away  on  the  stairs  as  Lord  and 
Lady  Harley  entered  the  room. 

Anger  had  brought  back  the  colour  of  life  to  Edith's 
cheeks,  and  the  fire  of  indignation  had  concealed  every 
trace  of  tears  in  her  burning  eyes.  The  calm  of  a 
supreme  resolve  smoothed  her  brow.  So  Lady  Harlev, 
as  she  drew  her  daughter  to  her  heart,  said  to  her 
caressingly  :  — 

"  My  dear  Edith,  I  am  delighted  to  see  that  you 
have  overcome  the  sadness  in  which  you  were  plunged. 
I  was  afraid  this  marriage  was  repugnant  to  you,  and 
that  a  vain  fear  of  breaking  your  word  at  the  last 
moment  alone  induced  you  to  carry  it  out.  I  would 
not  have  a  single  worldly  consideration  compromise 
the  happiness  of  your  life,  and  although  Lord  Harley 
finds  in  Count  de  Volmerange  every  quality  which  one 
could  desire  in  a  son-in-law,  he  has  come  with  me  to 
tell  you  not  to  bind  yourself  by  a  marriage  which  has 
so  greatly  troubled  and  distressed  you.  When  I 
was  about  to  wed  your  dear  father,  I  felt  nothing 
of  the  kind.  The  deepest  confidence  and  the  most 
celestial  serenity,  the  calmest  and  most  penetrating 
joy,  filled  my  soul.  These  must  be  the  feelings  of 
a  girl  when  she  is  about  to  be  married  to  him  whom 


88 


^7  Ss7  ^7  ^7  ^7  t§?     ^  ''-'*  ^  ^^t|i?dbtl!?dl?^?d»t{»tw??S?  Tt?  Tg?TrT 

THE  QUARTETTE 

she  is  to  accompany  to  the  tomb  and  to  meet  in 
the  next  life." 

"  Mother,"  answered  Edith,  kissing  Lady  Harley, 
"and  you,  dearest  and  most  honoured  father,  I  thank 
you  with  deep  gratitude  for  what  you  have  just  said. 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  deeply  I  am  touched  by  these 
proofs  of  your  love.  Your  anxiety  is  unfounded.  Pray 
be  reassured  ;  your  choice  is  mine.  Like  you,  I  think 
Count  de  Volmerange  high-bred,  full  of  the  noblest 
and  most  generous  feelings,  of  perfect  elegance  and 
thorough  grace.  I  firmly  believe  that  if  a  man  can 
make  any  woman  on  earth  happy,  he  is  the  one." 
But  Edith  could  not  quite  restrain  a  sigh,  which 
disagreed  with  the  words  she  uttered  and  seemed 
to  indicate  regret  rather  than  hope. 

"I  love  Count  de  Volmerange,"  she  went  on;  "I 
can  say  that  before  you,  my  dear  parents,  at  the 
moment  of  going  to  the  altar.  The  tears  I  have 
shed,  the  sadness  in  which  I  have  indulged,  are  no 
more  than  the  melancholy  fit  of  a  nervous  child, 
whose  only  real  grief  is  that  of  leaving  you." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  us,  dear  Edith.  I  feared 
that  a  secret  aversion  inspired  your  tears  and  your 
sighs." 


89 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  Kiss  me,  father,"  said  the  girl,  holding  out  her 
brow  to  Lord  Harley,  who  drew  her  to  his  breast. 
Then  she  took  her  mother's  hand  and  bent  over  it 
with  deep  emotion.  A  few  stifled  sobs  escaped  her, 
but  when  she  raised  her  face  she  had  resumed  her 
calm  expression. 

Count  de  Volmerange  was  announced. 

He  was  a  young  fellow  of  twenty-five  or  twenty-six, 
whose  handsome  face  at  once  attracted  by  its  curious 
charm.  He  was  born  at  Chandernagore,  of  a  French 
father  and  an  Indian  mother,  and  united  in  himself  the 
qualities  of  the  two  races.  His  eyes,  of  the  purest 
blue,  were  shaded  by  very  long  black  lashes  and  sur- 
mounted by  ebony  brows  clearly  marked  on  a  forehead 
of  mat  pallor.  This  contrast  imparted  a  singular  grace 
to  his  face.  The  blue  glance,  showing  between  the 
sombre  fringes,  had  a  sad,  soft  tone  which  the  strength 
of  the  neighbouring  tones  prevented  from  being  femi- 
nine. When  a  lively  emotion  moved  him,  his  eyes, 
made  brighter  by  the  warm  tints  of  the  eyelids,  seemed 
to  be  illumined,  and  turned  from  sapphire  to  turquoise. 
This  discord  in  tone,  agreeable  though  it  was,  and 
which  a  colourist  painter  would  have  studied  with  love, 
imparted  a  fatal  and  supernatural  look  to  his  handsome 


<;0 


i: ± -k 'k  £  ±  & 

THE  QUARTETTE 

face.  Some  of  the  dreamy,  sinister  angels  of  Albert 
Diirer  have  that  same  glance,  vast  as  the  heaven,  deep 
as  the  sea,  in  which  every  form  of  melancholy  seems 
to  have  melted  into  a  drop  of  azure  water.  Although 
peace  of  the  soul,  frankness  and  kindness  breathed  in 
that  face,  no  artist,  having  to  paint  happiness,  would 
have  taken  it  for  a  model. 

;  Count  de  Volmerange  was  tall,  and  although  slight, 
was  endowed  with  uncommon  strength.  Though  his 
figure  was  aristocratically  elegant,  the  breadth  of  his 
chest  and  the  muscles  of  his  arms,  which  showed  under 
the  cloth  of  his  sleeves,  betokened  athletic  vigour.  His 
robust  nature,  improved  by  the  breeding  and  the  perfect 
style  of  a  gentleman,  was  possessed  of  extreme  grace, 
the  grace  of  strength. 

The  party  left  for  the  church,  which  happened  to  be 
that  very  Church  of  Saint  Margaret  in  Palace  Yard 
under  the  porch  of  which  Miss  Annabel  Vyvyan,  pale 
as  an  alabaster  statue  upon  a  tomb,  was  awaiting  her 
bridegroom.  Edith's  veil  touched  Annabel's  shoulder 
as  she  passed.  As  for  Volmerange,  perfectly  happy, 
he  did  not  even  cast  a  glance  at  the  unhappv  girl  wait- 
ing on  the  threshold  of  the  church  and  trying  to  look 
into  the  fog ;  yet  two  fates  had  just  passed  each  other. 


9 


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THE  QUARTETTE 

Annabel,  thinking  of  no  one  but  Benedict,  paid  not  the 
least  attention  to  this  incident.  A  prey  to  her  anxiety, 
embarrassed  by  her  peculiar  situation,  she  did  not  notice 
either  Edith  or  Volmerange.  No  shudder  warned 
them. 

Edith  and  Volmerange  entered  the  dark  church,  and 
the  ceremony  took  place  to  the  sound  of  the  gusts  of 
wind  which  moaned  through  the  shadowy  naves  and 
made  the  doors  slam.  The  fog  was  turning  into  rain, 
and  great  drops,  driven  by  the  wind,  struck  against  the 
yellow  panes  of  the  huge  Protestant  windows ;  a  pale 
light,  dimmed  constantly  by  the  blasts  of  the  tempest, 
lighted  with  its  sinister  gleams  the  wedding  couple,  the 
priest,  and  the  spectators.  The  surplice  looked  like  a 
shroud,  and  the  clergyman  as  livid  as  a  spectre,  or  a 
necromancer  performing  a  spell.  The  sacred  gestures 
were  like  cabalistic  signs,  and  the  kneeling  pair  seemed 
rather  to  be  praying  on  a  tomb  than  to  be  bending 
happy  and  joyous,  to  receive  the  marriage  blessing. 
Near  the  door  in  the  distance  was  seen  a  white  shape 
surrounded  by  black  coats,  who  seemed  to  be  kept  to 
the  threshold  of  the  church  by  an  infernal  power,  like 
an  unhappy  soul  driven  from  Paradise  by  an  angel.  A 
feeling  of  overwhelming  sadness  filled  the  spectators  ;  a 


92 


tv '  rl?  ~Jic       tb    tk*  *^*  ^7  ".I?  ^   tr.  t*?  tl?  tl?  tir  db  t^?  strstrtfe 

 THE  QUARTETTE  

vague  presentiment  of  misfortune  beat  with  bat-like 
wings  upon  every  brow ;  an  icy,  penetrating  cold  which 
chilled  the  very  marrow  within  the  bones,  a  cold  like 
that  of  a  cellar,  a  sepulchre,  or  a  prison,  made  the 
guests  shudder,  and  added  to  the  painful  impression. 
The  least  superstitious,  in  spite  of  their  incredulity, 
could  not  help  thinking  to  themselves  :  "  This  is  not 
a  very  auspicious  wedding.  If  it  turns  out  well,  we 
shall  have  to  confess  that  happiness  has  sometimes 
very  sad  omens." 

The  only  one  who  did  not  feel  any  of  these  external 
impressions  was  Volmerange.  He  worshipped  Edith, 
and  if  the  day  on  which  he  received  her  hand  in  his 
had  been  filled  with  lightning  and  thunder,  clouds  and 
water-spouts,  it  would  have  appeared  to  him  pure  and 
serene.  What  matter  the  winds  of  heaven  and  the 
fogs  of  earth,  when  a  man  bears  sunshine  in  his  heart 
and  the  heavens  in  his  soul  ? 

As  the  couple  left  the  church,  a  meanly  dressed  man 
of  humble  mien,  who  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
poor  beggar  or  a  solicitor  speculating  upon  the  happi- 
ness which  leads  a  man  to  make  others  happy,  held 
out  to  Count  de  Volmerange  a  sealed  envelope  appar- 
ently containing  a  few  papers,  —  a  petition,  no  doubt, 


93 


THE  QUARTETTE 


with  certificates  in  support  of  it.  Volmerange  took 
the  envelope  with  a  careless  hand  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket  without  looking  at  the  man  who  proffered 
it.  Edith,  at  the  sight  of  him,  shuddered  but  said 
nothing. 

It  was  written  above  that  no  marriage  should  be 
happily  celebrated  that  day  in  the  Church  of  Saint 
Margaret. 

Sir  Benedict  Arundel  had  disappeared.  And  towards 
the  middle  of  the  night  in  the  nuptial  chamber  of 
Volmerange  and  Edith,  a  deep,  painful  moan  had 
sounded  in  the  silence  of  the  house.  Some  of  the 
servants  had  heard  it,  but  no  one  had  dared  to  seek  to 
penetrate,  without  being  called,  into  the  mysteries  of 
the  marriage  chamber.  Only,  the  next  morning,  as 
no  sound  was  heard  in  the  room,  as  no  ring  of  the  bell 
was  heard  and  it  was  already  past  noon,  they  ventured 
to  open  the  door. 

The  room  was  empty. 


94 


THE  QUARTETTE 

ri-.  »J/.  «A*  »4»  »4»  ri*  ■JLa^t^cjv  ^  rj>  r|j  »1t>  »4j  »ij 


VI 

LADY  ELEANOR  BRAYBROOKE,  raging 
and  exasperated,  looked  apoplectic  enough  to 
fill  her  heirs  and  collaterals  with  hope  had 
they  seen  her  at  that  moment.  She  was  unable  to 
keep  still,  and  formed  the  greatest  contrast  to  the 
pallor  and  motionlessness  of  Annabel.  She  was  like 
a  red-hot  coal  by  the  side  of  a  snowflake,  and  the 
wonder  was  that  the  nearness  of  her  blazing  face  did 
not  make  Annabel's  white  one  melt. 

"  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Sir  William  Bawtry. 
"  I  cannot  even  form  the  most  absurd  conjecture  about 
this  disappearance." 

"  I  can  think  of  a  reason,"  answered  the  choleric 
Lady  Braybrooke.  "  Benedict  Arundel  is  the  lowest  of 
wretches.  But  we  cannot  remain  here  forever,  stuck 
like  statues.  Let  us  return  to  your  home,  my  niece." 
She  took  Annabel's  arm  and  led  her  to  the  carriage. 
When  Annabel,  until  then  sunk  in  mute  stupor, 
found  herself  alone  with  her  aunt,  she  gave  way  to  a 


95 


THE  QUARTETTE 


hysterical  fit,  her  lovely  features  were  contracted, 
violent  sobs  broke  out,  and  if  abundant  tears  had  not 
flowed  from  her  eyes,  she  would  have  died  of  grief. 

"  The  loss  of  fifty  thousand  Arundels  is  not  worth 
one  of  those  pearls  which  flow  from  your  eyes,  my 
darling,"  said  Lady  Eleanor,  as  she  tried  to  calm  Miss 
Vyvyan.  "  I  told  you  that  a  well-bred  man  would  not 
leave  his  bride  at  the  door  of  the  church  to  speak  to 
a  friend.  Sir  George  Alan  Braybrooke  would  never 
have  indulged  in  such  a  piece  of  rudeness.  Who  can 
this  Sidney  be  ?  The  brother,  I  suppose,  of  some 
creature  whom  that  wretch  Arundel  had  seduced,  and 
who  was  waiting  in  some  neighbouring  tavern  with  her 
baby  in  her  arms." 

"  Sidney  has  no  sister,  aunt ;  Sir  Benedict  told  me 
so  several  times,"  replied  Annabel  to  Lady  Braybrooke ; 
"  so  your  supposition  is  unfounded.  Besides,  Sir 
Benedict  Arundel  is  incapable  —  " 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  you  girls  always  have  excuses  for 
these  handsome-whiskered  gentlemen,  who  look  at  the 
moon  when  they  talk  to  you  of  an  evening.  Your 
Benedict  was  poetical  and  a  poet.  I  have  always 
detested  such  people,  —  one  never  knows  which  way 
to  take  them.     They  have  unintelligible  ways  of  look- 

q6 


J^rLt  rt,  rl/>  rJU  rA,  »!•»  rj*  rl%  *l*  »jU  »jU  ri*  ^  »i*  ^        <4^  »4« 

THE  QUARTETTE 

ing  at  things,  and  a  sort  of  reversed  logic  which  makes 
them  do  the  very  thing  that  no  one  expects  them  to  do. 
They  imagine  absurd  happiness,  and  fancy  they  are 
suffering  from  chimerical  misfortunes.  What  is  needed 
in  marriage  is  a  practical  mind.  Sir  George  Alan 
Braybrooke  —  " 

"  But,  aunt,  suppose  he  has  been  the  victim  of  a  plot. 
Suppose  he  has  fallen  into  a  trap  —  " 

"  Nonsense  !  a  plot  in  London  in  broad  daylight,  a 
few  steps  from  a  file  of  carriages  and  a  whole  crowd  of 
footmen  and  policemen  !  " 

"  If  Benedict  has  not  returned,  it  is  because  he  is 
dead,"  replied  Annabel,  stifling  a  sigh  in  her  handker' 
chief,  which  she  had  wetted  with  her  tears. 

For  a  few  moments  the  girl  was  overwhelmed  by 
convulsive  sobs. 

"  Come,  come  !  "  said  Lady  Eleanor,  troubled  by 
Annabel's  despair.  "  Because  a  bridegroom  disappears 
for  some  more  or  less  mysterious  reason,  it  does  not 
follow  that  he  is  no  longer  on  this  earth." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure,  aunt,  I  shall  never  see  him  again. 
I  feel  a  presentiment  that  I  shall  not.  He  is  forever 
lost  to  me." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !    What  do  you  mean  by  presenti- 


7 


97 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

ments  ?  I  have  never  had  any.  That  may  do  in 
Scotland,  the  country  of  second  sight,  but  in  London,  in 
the  West  End,  people  do  not  foresee  the  future." 

"  But  the  church  had  such  a  gloomy  look ;  I  shud- 
dered as  I  crossed  the  threshold." 

"  That  is  simply  the  effect  of  its  age  and  of  coal,  a 
mere  Gothic  phantasmagoria.  If  you  had  chosen  the 
new  church  at  Hanover  Square,  imitated  from  the  Par- 
thenon and  painted  white,  in  which  all  the  best  people 
are  married,  you  would  not  have  felt  that  prophetic 
effect,  and  your  future  would  nevertheless  have  been 
the  same." 

"  Your  reasoning  is  cruel,  aunt,  but  I  feel  that  a  bru- 
tal hand  has  just  blotted  on  the  book  of  fate  the  page 
on  which  his  future  life  and  mine  were  written." 

"  But,  instead  of  seeking  supernatural  explanations, 
I  must  say,  even  if  I  am  to  pain  you,  that  there  are 
more  plausible  motives,  —  love  for  another  — " 

"  How  can  you  think  so,  aunt  ?  In  that  case,  I 
should  prefer  that  he  should  be  dead.  Sir  Benedict 
Arundel  is  incapable  of  falsehood  and  treason.  His 
lips  speak  what  his  heart  thinks,  and  his  heart  is  in 
accord  with  his  eyes.  Besides,  is  it  possible  to 
deceive  ?  Then  why  should  he  have  done  it  ?  Has 


98 


>£•  <X.  rvt.  •!*  rli  •!/*  •A*  *A»  ^  ti?  tsbtlljdb  tl?  tfj  Tf?  tl?  Cs?  j? 

THE  QUARTETTE 

he  not  a  great  name,  is  he  not  as  rich  as  I  am,  and 
as  young  ? " 

"  And  as  handsome,  you  may  add.  The  two  of  you 
formed  a  lovely  couple,"  added  Lady  Eleanor  Bray- 
brooke,  with  a  sigh  ;  for  she  could  not  help  acknowledg- 
ing the  accuracy  of  Annabel's  reasoning,  and  her  anger 
had  begun  to  yield  to  genuine  anxiety.  She  understood 
that  what  she  had  taken  for  an  impertinence  might 
well  be  a  misfortune.  Her  complexion,  hitherto  violet, 
now  became  purple,  then  crimson,  and  finally  red, 
which  was  comparatively  pale  for  her. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  drew 
up  at  the  door,  and  Miss  Annabel  Vyvyan  walked  up 
alone,  sad  and  despairing,  the  stairs  which  an  hour 
before  she  had  descended  with  joy  in  her  heart,  a  smile 
on  her  lips,  and  the  tip  of  her  white  glove  in  the  hand 
of  her  well-beloved. 

The  surprise  of  her  maids  was  extreme  to  see  her 
return  thus,  but  Lady  Braybrooke's  remarks  soon  made 
them  aware  of  what  had  happened,  and  although,  with 
the  reserve  of  English  servants,  they  did  not  permit 
themselves  to  ask  any  questions  or  to  say  anything 
about  the  misfortune  which  had  just  befallen  their 
young  mistress,  it  was  plain  that  in  the  inferior  sphere 


99 


THE  QUARTETTE 

in  which  they  moved,  they  shared  her  great  and  well- 
grounded  grief ;  and  they  showed  it  by  the  change  in 
their  faces  and  the  careful  manner  in  which  they  walked 
about  the  room  for  fear  of  disturbing  her.  Miss  Anna- 
bel had  thrown  herself,  half  fainting,  on  a  sofa  opposite 
the  mirror  in  which  but  a  moment  since  she  had  looked 
at  herself  in  her  wedding-dress.  If  mirrors,  in  spite  of 
their  inconstancy,  had  the  least  feeling  for  the  objects 
which  they  reflect  without  preserving  them,  this  one 
would  have  been  astonished  and  touched  at  reflecting, 
so  pale,  so  wan,  and  so  despairing,  the  face  that  but 
a  few  moments  before  had  shone  in  the  depths  of  its 
burnished  steel  so  fair,  so  fresh,  so  radiant  with 
happiness  and  hope. 

Alas  !  the  pretty  tea  roses  had  lost  their  lovely  tints, 
and  scarcely  did  the  lips  preserve  a  rosy  touch  almost 
vanished.  The  living  beauty  had  become  a  dead 
beauty,  and  the  statue  animated  with  joy  had  turned 
into  an  angel  of  melancholy  weeping  over  a  tomb. 

The  wedding  bouquet  and  ornaments,  of  which 
Annabel's  distracted  glance  caught  a  glimpse  in  the 
mirror,  in  their  white  freshness  and  their  virginal 
brilliancy,  appeared  to  her  an  odious  irony,  a  cruel 
jeer. 


ioo 


THE  QUARTETTE 

"  Undress  me,"  she  said  to  her  maids.  "  Of  what 
use  are  these  wretched  ornaments  ?  I  am  no  longer  a 
bride,  but  a  widow.     Give  me  a  black  dress." 

"  There,"  cried  Lady  Eleanor,  "  is  another  romantic 
idea.  To  wear  black,  —  that  is  absurd.  A  brown 
dress  would  suffice,  for,  after  all,  you  are  not  married. 
You  will  compromise  yourself,  Annabel,  and  it  may 
hurt  you  later.  Benedict  is  not  the  only  husband  in 
the  world." 

"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  he  is  the  only  one." 

"  You  talk  like  a  love-sick  girl.  No  love  is  irrep- 
arable, everything  can  be  made  up,  and  one  man  is  as 
good  as  another,  —  you  may  believe  my  long  experi- 
ence," said  Lady  Eleanor,  swelling  out  as,  thanks  to 
the  flattering  sound  of  the  word  "  experience  "  in  such 
matters,  she  risked  the  epithet  "  old  "  in  order  to  give 
more  fulness  to  her  periods  and  more  authority  to  her 
maxim. 

On  his  part,  poor  William  Bawtry,  not  knowing 
what  to  think  of  so  strange  an  occurrence,  was  travers- 
ing the  streets  for  the  twentieth  time  with  the  stupid 
obstinacy  which  is  the  result  of  incomprehensibility. 
He  hoped  to  find  Sir  Benedict  by  dint  of  going  and 
coming.     He  entered  rapidly  the  few  shops  in  the  lane, 


IOI 


THE  QUARTETTE 

and  made  the  worthy  dealers  in  West  Indian  goods, 
the  hospitable  proprietors  of  oyster-houses  and  taverns, 
repeat  till  they  were  tired  that  they  had  seen  no  one 
pass  by  resembling  the  gentleman  whose  description 
he  gave.  The  police,  on  being  questioned,  said  they 
had  seen  no  passer-by,  no  group  of  people  at  the  time 
when  Sir  Arundel  disappeared ;  that  besides,  the  fog,  so 
thick  at  that  moment,  prevented  any  one  seeing  more 
than  three  or  four  yards  away;  nevertheless,  they  had 
heard  no  sound,  no  cries,  no  scuffling,  had  not  noticed 
the  faintest  signs  of  a  struggle,  and  the  gentleman 
whom  Sir  William  was  looking  for  had  no  doubt  gone 
away  of  his  own  accord. 

Where  could  he  be  sought  for  in  so  vast  a  city  as 
London,  without  any  clue  to  guide  investigators,  who, 
besides,  would  have  to  stop  at  the  inviolable  threshold 
of  an  English  home,  in  case  the  retreat  which  concealed 
him  could  have  been  suspected?  Nevertheless,  Sir 
William  Bawtrv  went  to  the  police  headquarters,  where 
he  received  a  promise  that  the  matter  would  be  inquired 
into  ;  and  he  sent  through  the  city  some  fifty  detectives 
who  walked  up  and  down  all  sorts  of  unlikely  streets, 
and  returned  that  evening,  their  shoes  visibly  worn  and 
with  mud  up  to  their  necks,  without,  however,  having 


102 


i:  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  tb  :fc  4:  £  k  k k  db 

THE  QUARTETTE 


found  anything  that  could  lead  to  the  discovery  of 
Benedict  or  Sidney. 

While  walking  towards  Miss  Annabel  Vyvyan's 
house,  for  the  state  of  agitation  in  which  he  was,  made 
him  prefer  walking  to  driving,  Sir  William  Bawtry,  in  a 
monologue  which  the  usual  phlegm  of  the  English  did  not 
prevent  his  breaking  in  upon  with  gestures  that  would 
have  seemed  eccentric  if  any  one  in  London  ever  looked 
at  anybody  else,  asked  himself  a  number  of  insoluble 
questions  about  the  event  that  had  happened  that  morn- 
ing. "  What  the  devil !  "  said  Sir  William  to  himself. 
"  Although  we  do  deserve  to  a  certain  extent  the  repu- 
tation of  eccentricity  which  we  enjoy  on  the  continent, 
my  friend  Benedict's  act  goes  far  beyond  the  bounds  of 
eccentricity.  To  drop  on  the  threshold  of  the  church 
the  handsomest  girl  in  the  three  kingdoms  is  a  savage 
and  abominable  act.  Benedict  was  unquestionably 
madly  in  love  with  Miss  Annabel.  It  was  no  caprice. 
For  the  past  year  he  had  seen  her  almost  every  day,  so 
he  had  not  taken  fire  unexpectedly.  Miss  Annabel's 
soul  is  as  lovely  as  her  body;  she  is  as  beautiful  within 
as  without.  What  can  have  so  suddenly  turned  Bene- 
dict against  her  ?  Did  he  at  the  last  moment  discover 
some  hidden  vice,  some  concealed  offence  in  her?  Yet 

103 


THE  QUARTETTE 


in  driving  to  church  with  me,  he  seemed  radiant  with 
happiness,  caressing  dreams  of  the  future,  and  not 
having  the  slightest  intention  of  running  away.  He 
seemed  to  be  ready  to  bow  very  gracefully  to  the  yoke 
of  marriage,  and  no  one  could  have  foreseen  that  he 
would  so  abruptly  lay  back  his  ears  and  bolt  like  a  shy 
colt.  I  suppose  that  at  the  moment  of  giving  it  up, 
bachelor  life  appeared  to  him  in  the  most  attractive 
colours  ;  or  Sidney  has  told  him  about  Miss  Annabel 
one  of  those  terrible  things  which  burn  like  a  red-hot 
iron  and  cut  like  an  axe.  But  what  could  he  have  to 
say  about  that  pure,  transparent  life  spent  in  a  house  of 
glass,  every  hour  of  which  can  be  accounted  for,  and  in 
which  slander  and  calumny  could  not  find  the  shadow  of 
a  pretext  ?  What  cool  extravagance  can  Sidney  have 
proposed  to  him  ?  —  a  trip  to  the  Arctic,  a  tiger  or  black- 
panther  hunt  in  his  Java  domains  ?  That  would  be 
madness,  and  Benedict  is  not  mad ;  and  unless  Sidney 
has  taken  him  away  with  him  and  put  him  in  his 
pocket,  I  can  make  nothing  of  it.  " 

At  this  moment  a  happy  thought  occurred  to  Sir 
William  Bawtry. 

14  Suppose  I  were  to  go  to  Sidney's  house  in  Pall 
Mall,  the  one  he  lived  in  before  he  left  for  India." 


104 


is  is  is  is  is  4r      isisrk  ^^r^r^?tS:^:d:^d?dbtfc?b^ 

THE  QUARTETTE 

The  windows  of  the  house  were  closed  and  every- 
thing indicated  that  no  one  had  lived  there  for  a  long 
time.  William  lifted  the  knocker,  and  a  servant  opened, 
after  having  made  him  wait  a  long  time.  The  servant, 
who  had  come  from  the  farthest  recesses  of  the  man- 
sion, testified  at  the  sight  of  Sir  William  Bawtry  a 
surprise  which  proved  how  rare  the  appearance  of  a 
visitor  was  in  this  deserted  home. 

"  Is  Sir  Arthur  Sidney  at  home  just  now  ?  "  asked 
Sir  William  Bawtry,  at  haphazard. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  so." 

"  In  that  case,  show  me  up  to  him.  Here  is  my 
card,"  said  Sir"  William,  as  he  entered. 

"  Oh  !  he  is  not  here,  but  in  Calcutta,  in  Blue 
Elephant  Street,  number  25.  This  is  the  time  at 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  come  home.  Sir  Arthur 
Sidney  has  been  living  in  India  for  two  years  past." 

"  And  has  he  not  returned  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of,  sir,"  answered  the  servant, 
still  edging  Sir  William  towards  the  door. 

"  And  yet  I  have  just  seen  him  in  a  street  near  Saint 
Margaret's." 

"  You  must  have  been  deceived  by  some  likeness, 
sir,  for  if  Sir  Arthur  were  in  London,  he  would  have 


105 


THE  QUARTETTE 


notified  us  of  his  arrival,  and  no  doubt  would  have 
come  to  his  own  home,"  answered  the  servant  in  a 
tone  of  ironical  politeness,  and  closing  in  Sir  William 
Bawtry's  face,  whom  he  evidently  took  for  a  swindler, 
the  leaf  of  the  door, — the  handle  of  which  he  had  not 
let  go  during  the  conversation. 

Resuming  his  way,  Sir  William  said  to  himself : 
"  Either  Sidney  is  really  not  in  London,  or  that  rascal 
has  been  drilled  to  say  what  he  does.  And  yet  I 
clearly  recognised  Arthur,  and  Benedict  spoke  to  him 
and  called  him  by  name.  If  Benedict  had  debts,  I 
might  suppose  it  was  a  sheriff's  officer,  dressed  up  like 
Sir  Arthur,  to  carry  him  off  to  a  sponging-house. 
Well,  I  may  perhaps  now  find  him  at  Miss  Annabel's, 
explaining  his  remarkable  conduct  in  the  most  natural 
fashion  possible." 

But  Sir  Benedict  was  not  at  his  bride's  house,  and 
Lady  Braybrooke,  seeing  the  girl's  dreadful  despair, 
tried  to  prove  to  her  that  nothing  was  more  natural 
for  a  man  than  to  disappear  just  as  he  was  about  to  be 
married,  and  that  Sir  George  Alan  Braybrooke,  who 
was  the  best  bred  of  men,  would  have  been  equally 
facetious. 

If  Benedict  himself  did  not  appear,  he  might  at  least 
1 06 


THE  QUARTETTE 


have  written ;  but  there  was  no  letter,  no  note,  nothing 
to  explain  his  strange  conduct. 

The  investigations  of  the  police  were  fruitless  ;  the 
fate  of  Benedict  Arundel  remained  sunk  in  the  most 
mysterious  secrecy.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  he 
had  been  murdered,  since  Sidney,  who  had  been 
brought  up  at  Harrow  with  Benedict,  was  his  intimate 
friend  and  had  no  motive  of  enmity  towards  him.  As 
for  his  being  carried  off  and  imprisoned,  what  could  be 
the  purpose,  what  could  be  the  motive  ?  It  could  not 
be  jealousy  of  a  rejected  lover,  for  Sidney  had  never 
seen  Miss  Annabel,  and  there  could  be  no  rivalry 
between  him  and  Benedict. 

As  evening  came  on,  the  poor  bride  returned  to  her 
maiden  chamber,  the  threshold  of  which  she  thought 
that  morning  she  had  crossed  for  the  last  time.  Her 
maids  undressed  her  and  laid  her  like  a  dead  body  in 
the  pretty  white  nest  over  which  had  fluttered  so  many 
happy  dreams,  waving  their  rosy  wings  over  the  ivory 
brow  of  the  young  girl.  She  remained  in  the  same 
position  in  which  she  had  been  put,  her  head  sunk  in 
her  hair,  which  flowed  like  the  water  from  a  river 
urn,  her  pale  face  resting  on  her  arm.  She  might 
have  been  thought  dead  but  that,  from  time  to  time, 

107 


THE  QUARTETTE 


a  tear  rolled  over  her  pale  cheeks  like  a  pearl  over 
marble. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dear  child,"  said  Lady  Eleanor 
Braybrooke,  seeing  that  her  niece  remained  obstinately 
mute.    "  Keep  up  your  heart." 

A  faint  gesture  of  hopelessness  made  Annabel's 
shoulders  move,  for  she  was  absolutely  convinced  that 
Benedict,  not  having  returned  at  once,  would  never 
reappear  again.  Not  for  one  moment  had  she  believed 
in  treachery  on  his  part.  She  felt  that  she  was  beloved 
by  him,  whether  absent  or  present,  in  this  life  or  in 
the  next.  She  had  the  unshakable  faith  of  first  love. 
Thus  she  wept  all  night  silently,  until  the  heavy  sleep 
of  morning  weighed  down  upon  her  reddened  eyelids; 
but  her  dreams  were  as  sad  as  her  thoughts,  for  time 
and  again  tears  escaped  from  her  closed  eyes.  And 
thus  was  spent  the  wedding  night  of  the  young  girl 
who  should  have  been  Lady  Arundel. 

Lord  Harley  and  his  wife,  overcome  with  grief, 
were  on  their  part  making  equal  efforts  to  discover 
their  lost  daughter  and  son-in-law. 

The  bed  seemed  not  to  have  been  slept  in,  the 
tapers  had  burned  quietly  down  to  the  frills.  On  the 
table  a  crushed  paper,  burned  at  the  flame  of  one  of 

1 08 


THE  QUARTETTE 

the  tapers,  had  preserved  its  shape,  represented  by- 
black  ashes.  On  the  floor  lay  the  envelope,  addressed 
to  the  Count  de  Volmerange,  without  a  stamp,  and 
evidently  addressed  in  a  disguised  hand.  Lord  Harley 
studied  intently  that  shadow  of  a  letter  which  the  least 
breath  caused  to  flutter,  and  which  contained  perhaps 
the  secret  of  the  irritating  mystery  of  the  flight  of 
Edith  and  Volmerange.  He  tried  in  vain  to  make  out 
on  the  fine  calcined  pellicle  the  few  traces  of  letters 
which  the  fire  had  not  caused  to  disappear,  but  he 
might  just  as  well  have  attempted  to  decipher  hiero- 
glyphs, and  worn  hieroglyphs  at  that.  The  burned 
paper  gave  no  information,  and  yet  it  was  evident  that 
it  had  played  an  important  and  decisive  part  on  that 
fatal  night ;  the  very  care  taken  to  destroy  it  testified 
to  its  value. 

The  great  glass  door  opening  on  the  terrace  had 
been  opened  and  a  careful  inspection  of  the  sanded 
walks  showed  a  few  faint  footprints  of  a  small,  well- 
shaped  woman's-foot,  for  the  toe  and  the  heel  alone 
had  marked  the  damp  ground.  Others,  larger  and 
deeper,  mixed  with  these.  All  ended  at  the  terrace 
which  rose  at  the  end  of  the  garden  above  the  street. 
That  way  Edith   and  Volmerange  must  have  gone. 

109 


4:  i:  4:  £  is  is  is  is  is  is  is  is  &  4r  &  :*?  tfc  tfc  tfc  tfc  is  :&  5?:  & 

THE  QUARTETTE 


From  the  terrace  to  the  ground  was  a  height  of  some 
six  or  seven  feet.  How  had  they  managed  to  get 
down,  and  how  could  this  amazing  flight  be  explained  ? 
A  young  married  couple  to  leave  their  nuptial  chamber 
on  their  wedding  night  as  if  they  were  culprits, 
without  a  word  of  explanation,  plunging  a  father 
and  mother  in  the  most  dreadful  despair,  was  some- 
thing terrible. 

Lady  Harley  recalled  Edith's  sad  and  preoccupied 
looks  on  the  days  preceding  the  marriage,  and  supposed 
that  she  was  the  victim  of  some  disappointed  love. 
But  Edith  had  sworn  that  her  heart  was  free,  and  that 
Volmerange  was  the  husband  of  her  choice.  To  explain 
the  matter  by  a  rape  or  a  crime  was  no  explanation, 
for  there  were  no  prints  of  footsteps  from  the 
terrace  to  the  glass  door,  the  road  which  malefactors 
would  have  necessarily  taken.  The  ground,  wetted 
by  the  night  tempest,  would  have  preserved  these 
traces  as  faithfully  as  the  footprints  of  Edith  and 
Volmerange. 

A  bit  of  muslin  caught  on  one  of  the  iron  spikes 
placed  upon  the  coping  of  the  walls  pointed  out 
the  way  by  which  the  young  wife  had  sprung  into 
the  street.    Unfortunately  the  pavement,  muddy  and 


I  10 


THE  QUARTETTE  


covered  with  pools  of  water,  had  preserved  no  trace 
of  the  fugitives.  The  storm  had  caused  the  streets 
to  be  deserted  early,  and  no  one  had  seen  anything. 

«  Perhaps,"  said  Lord  Harley,  "  they  have  gone  to 
their  Twickenham  estate.  And  yet  Volmerange  did 
say  that  he  could  not  understand  the  foolishness  of 
burying  one's  happiness  within  a  postchaise,  and  turn- 
ing postilions  into  confidants  of  true  love.  Still,  let  us 
send  a  messenger  to  Twickenham." 

The  Count  and  the  Countess  had  not  appeared  there, 
and  the  housekeeper  had  received  no  orders  from 
them. 

The  reply  plunged  Lord  and  Lady  Harley  into  the 
deepest  grief.  During  the  time  the  messenger  had 
been  gone,  they  had  managed  to  prove  to  themselves 
that  their  daughter  had  gone  to  Twickenham  ;  they 
had  clung  to  that  vain  hope  so  desperately  that  when 
it  escaped  them  like  a  tuft  of  fennel,  they  rolled  into 
an  abyss  of  misery,  and  thought  they  had  lost  their 
daughter  for  the  second  time. 

The  most  careful  search  failed  to  bring  about  any 
result,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  married  pair 
remained  shrouded  in  mystery.  The  dark  Church  of 
Saint  Margaret  had  indeed  realised  the  sad  presenti- 


1 1 1 


THE  QUARTETTE 


ments  inspired  by  its  austere  and  funereal  aspect,  and 
justified  Lady  Braybrooke's  preference  for  the  new 
church  in  Hanover  Square  as  far  as  weddings  went. 
This  time  the  good  lady  was  not  wrong  when  she 
maintained  that  Gothic  churches  were  good  only  to  be 
buried  in. 


I  I  2 


«4»  «4«  rJ/«  «1*  «4*  •i*  *A»  «4»  »4»  *£•    »i»  •£*  »4»  »l»  »4»  »4»  *i*  •!»  «j* 


THE  QUARTETTE 

jlj       »>l»  »A»  »A»  «X»  «4*  »4»  tl?  Js?  Is?  rl^  »J»  »A»  »4»  rj^  «1* 


VII 

WELL,  Sidney,  what  is  the  important  mat- 
ter you  have  come  to  tell  me  about?" 
said  Benedict  Arundel  to  his  friend,  as 
he  stepped  into  the  narrow  lane  which  the  shadow  of 
the  church  and  the  fog  together  made  as  black  as  a 
corridor  of  hell. 

"  It  will  not  take  long,"  answered  Sidney,  as  he 
took  Benedict  by  the  arm  and  brought  him  nearly 
opposite  the  house  described  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
as  if  he  were  not  yet  sufficiently  far  from  the  wedding 
company  to  tell  his  secret. 

Just  at  this  moment  a  dray  drawn  by  four  of  those 
huge  horses  to  be  seen  only  in  London,  and  which, 
with  their  gray  coats  and  their  colossal  form,  look  like 
young  elephants,  entered  the  lane,  which  it  filled  almost 
completely  from  one  end  to  the  other.  The  driver, 
who  was  at  the  head  of  the  horses,  was  the  aforesaid 
ingenious  Cuddy.  The  dray,  thus  driven,  formed  a 
moving  barricade  which  completely  stopped  up  the 


8 


"3 


 THE  QUARTETTE 

street.  It  prevented  Benedict  from  retracing  his  steps 
and  also  people  from  coming  to  his  help.  On  account 
of  the  enormous  load,  the  dray  proceeded  very  slowly, 
and  had  not  yet  passed  the  third  or  fourth  house  in  the 
street.  Saunders  was  crawling  along  the  wall  near 
Benedict,  and  in  his  hand,  hanging  at  his  side,  was  the 
mask  to  which  Noll  had  made  anacreontic  allusions, 
supposing  it  intended  for  Nancy's  pretty  face.  As  for 
Noll,  who  aimed  at  being  a  man  of  the  world,  —  a  pre- 
tension which  in  his  opinion  was  justified  by  a  silver 
pin  set  with  imitation  turquoises  representing  the  harp 
of  Erin  and  stuck  in  a  black  satin  rag,  and  especially 
by  a  pair  of  gloves  of  indescribable  colour  which  might 
have  been  white  at  some  remote  time,  and  through  the 
finger-ends  of  which  passed  red  knuckles  and  blue 
nails,  —  Noll  was  gracefully  dawdling,  chewing  an 
unlighted  cigar  and  caressing  the  bone  of  his  stork- 
like leg  with  a  small  switch  used  for  beating  clothes, 
and  which  he  carried  as  if  it  were  a  riding-whip.  Bob, 
true  to  his  character,  was  spelling  out  on  the  sign  of 
a  low  drinking-shop  the  pompous  and  very  deceitful 
list  of  French  wines  and  foreign  liquors.  He  preferred 
this  sort  of  literature  to  all  the  poetry  on  earth  ;  Shake- 
speare and  Milton  were   in  his  eyes  only  wretched 


114 


THE  QUARTETTE  

scribblers  by  the  side  of  the  letter-painter  who  had 
written  this  superb  list,  much  more  lyrical  than  Pin- 
dar's odes,  —  a  Greek  whom  Bob  would  have  assuredly 
despised  because  he  wrote  a  stanza  beginning  thus : 
"Water,  in  truth,  is  very  good." 
When  Sidney,  followed  by  Benedict,  passed  near 
Saunders,  he  winked  at  him  almost  imperceptibly. 
Saunders  understood  and  drew  near  Benedict.  Noll  let 
fall  his  stick  and  bent,  pretending  to  pick  it  up,  and 
Bob,  who  had  got  so  far  as  "  Cognac,  Arrack,  Rum,  and 
Tafia,"  dragged  himself  away  from  his  intoxicating 
reading.  Cuddy  left  his  horses,  which  quietly  stopped, 
and  drew  nearer  the  group.  At  the  same  moment 
Benedict  felt  slapped  in  his  face  and  spread  over  his  feat- 
ures a  thick,  warm,  heavy  mask  which  at  once  deprived 
him  of  sight,  breathing,  and  speech  ;  a  strong  arm  was 
pressed  against  his  loins  like  an  iron  bar;  broad  bony 
hands,  with  fingers  like  crabs'  claws,  caught  his  legs 
and  raised  him  from  the  ground.  It  was  all  done  in  a 
flash,  and  Benedict,  whose  arms  were  held  by  human 
fetters  so  that  he  could  not  get  rid  of  his  mask,  felt 
himself  carried  off  towards  some  unknown  place  by  a 
mysterious  force,  as  in  those  horrible  dreams  in  which 
Smarra  carries  vou  off  upon  its  monstrous  back. 


"5 


THE  QUARTETTE 


The  door  of  the  deserted  house  opened  as  if  by 
magic,  and  the  band  entered  the  dark  passage,  fol- 
lowed by  Sir  Arthur  Sidney.  When  they  had  got 
sufficiently  far  into  the  narrow  corridor,  so  that  the 
light  coming  from  the  street  had  completely  vanished, 
Saunders  wisely  bethought  himself  that  it  was  not 
necessary  to  stifle  the  gentleman,  and  cleverly  pulled 
off"  the  pitch  mask  which  covered  Benedict's  face.  He 
was  just  swooning  away,  and  the  mad  efforts  he  had 
made  to  free  himself  had  greatly  diminished.  He  was 
tortured  by  inexpressible  anxietv,  the  blood  was  surg- 
ing in  his  temples,  his  breast  heaved  as  if  breathing 
were  an  impossibility,  his  ears  sang  violently,  and  his 
blinded  eyes  saw  passing  before  them  fantastic  blue, 
green,  and  red  lights. 

Assuredly  the  atmosphere  in  that  dark,  fetid,  icy- 
cold  passage  would  at  any  other  time  have  turned 
Benedict  sick ;  but  never  was  an  Alpine  breeze,  un- 
tainted by  any  human  breath  and  laden  with  all  the 
scent  of  flowery  solitudes,  inspired  by  more  eager  lungs 
than  that  almost  mephitic  air.  That  breath  of  tainted 
air  was  life  to  Benedict.  The  immense  relief  he  felt 
was  manifested  by  a  deep  sigh  and  a  prolonged  M  Thank 
God  !  " 

116 


4;  4;  4*  4?  4* 4;  4*4*  £4^4-4;  4*  4- 4.  4*  4.  4.  4;  4;  4;  4?  4*  4» 

THE  QUARTETTE 

"  It  looks,"  said  Noll,  to  himself,  "  as  if  the  gentle- 
man began  to  feel  the  need  of  putting  his  nose  out  of 
the  window,  and  although  Bob  maintains  there  is  noth- 
ing better  than  a  drink  of  whiskey,  I  think  the  gentle- 
man would  have  preferred  a  breath  of  air." 

Benedict,  now  realizing  his  situation,  attempted  to 
resist,  but  eight  vigorous  arms  drove  him  into  the  room 
I  have  described,  and  which  the  crew  of  the  yawl,  who 
had  now  returned  to  their  boat  by  the  subterranean 
passage,  had  left  empty.  The  door  was  dosed  upon 
him,  and  the  key  turned  sharply  in  the  lock.  Still 
overcome  by  weakness,  Benedict  sank  upon  a  box  and 
leaned  in  an  attitude  of  despair  on  the  table  covered 
with  glasses  and  jugs,  the  remains  of  the  orgy  Noll 
and  Saunders  had  shared  in. 

Strange  was  the  transition,  stranger  still  the  turn  in 
his  fate.  But  a  few  minutes  since,  Sir  Benedict  Arun- 
del was  sitting  in  a  comfortable  carriage  opposite  a 
lovely  girl,  a  fair  angel  that  had  come  from  heaven  for 
him,  surrounded  by  his  friends  and  his  acquaintances, 
in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant,  aristocratic  company,  so  high 
placed  that  it  seemed  impossible  for  misfortune  to  touch 
any  of  its  members.  And  yet,  by  an  unheard-of  treach- 
ery, a  perfidious  trick,  he  was  now  a  prisoner  in  a 


117 


THE  QUARTETTE 


horrible  den  where  no  doubt  a  dreadful  death  awaited 
him. 

He  gazed  with  lack-lustre  eye  at  the  red  glow  of  the 
coal  fire  that  was  slowly  dying  out,  at  the  blood-red 
walls  reeking  with  crime  and  vice,  on  which  gallows, 
portraits  of  murderers  and  robbers,  scenes  of  blood  and 
debauch,  scratched  in  white  outlines,  mingled  in  a  sin- 
ister saraband  with  obscene,  enigmatical,  or  threatening 
inscriptions,  in  the  intermittent  light  of  the  fire. 

The  very  elegance  of  Benedict's  dress  made  the  con- 
trast still  more  striking.  His  perfumed,  clean,  white 
glove  resting  upon  the  coarse  wooden  table  cut  bv 
knives  and  shining  with  grease,  produced  a  most  pain- 
ful impression.  Such  a  man  as  Benedict  could  be  in 
such  a  place  only  as  the  result  of  a  mysterious  and 
wicked  plot. 

Somewhat  recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  sudden 
blow,  Benedict  asked  himself  what  could  be  the  object 
of  this  strange  sequestration.  Had  Sir  Arthur  Sidney 
wished  to  deliver  him  over  to  evil-doers,  to  assassins 
perhaps  ?  Was  it  an  eccentric  way  of  punishing  him 
for  not  awaiting  his  arrival  ?  Had  Sir  Arthur  planned 
this  kidnapping,  or,  being  himself  a  powerless  spectator, 
had  he  hastened  for  help  in  the  unequal  struggle  ?  Sir 

118 


a  ^  rM  t£s  rJc    tl?  *-'*  ^tSrtl?iJ»  ttrtlrdf  d»  «j?tt?tf?  tlrsSrsfe 

THE  QUARTETTE 

Benedict  passed  from  conjecture  to  conjecture  without 
being  able  to  fathom  the  mystery. 

Then  he  thought  with  despair  of  the  mortal  anxiety 
and  the  painful  situation  of  Miss  Annabel  on  not  seeing 
return  the  man  she  had  chosen  for  her  husband,  and 
whose  disappearance  would  remain  inexplicable.  The 
thought  maddened  him.  He  cursed  Sidney,  and  raged 
round  the  room  with  the  mechanical  obstinacy  of  a  wild 
beast  seeking  an  outlet.  Several  times  he  tried  to  break 
down  the  door,  but  it  was  firm  on  its  rusty  old  hinges, 
and  Benedict's  fiercest  blows  had  no  effect  upon  the 
thick  boards.  The  window,  placed  at  an  inaccessible 
height,  was  further  guarded  with  flat  iron  bars  with 
serrated  edges  placed  so  closely  together  that  a  sylph 
could  not  have  slipped  between  them  without  tearing 
its  wings. 

In  the  hope  of  being  heard  in  some  of  the  neigh- 
bouring houses,  the  queer  angles  of  whose  roofs  showed 
faintly  through  the  upper  panes,  Sir  Benedict  shouted 
with  all  his  might.  In  order  to  make  the  sound  carry 
farther,  he  endeavoured  to  imitate  the  calls  of  sailors  in 
a  gale  of  wind  and  of  mountaineers  who  signal  to  each 
other  from  the  two  sides  of  a  precipice  separated  by  a 
torrent,  but  the  room  was  as  mute  as  if  it  had  been 


119 


THE  QUARTETTE 


padded ;  Benedict's  voice  awoke  no  echo,  and  came 
back  to  him  as  it  does  on  high  summits  where  the 
rarefied  air  stills  the  vibrations  of  words. 

Maddened,  Benedict  passed  from  cries  to  howls,  and 
a  bloody  foam  rose  to  his  lips.  Then,  weary  and 
ashamed  of  his  useless  attempts,  he  let  himself  fall 
upon  the  bench.  The  coals,  almost  entirely  con- 
sumed, gave  out  an  occasional  flicker  only ;  a  tiny 
violet  flame  meandered,  ready  to  vanish,  over  the 
heaps  of  ashes.  Night,  which  had  fallen,  made 
the  window  dark,  and  formidable  shadows  grew  in 
the  corner  of  the  room,  in  which  the  eye  of  terror 
could  easily  have  perceived  the  motions  of  monstrous 
swarming  forms. 

Sir  Benedict  was  unquestionably  a  brave  man,  but 
to  the  fury  and  despair  of  being  separated  from 
Annabel  was  added  the  instinct  of  personal  preserva- 
tion very  properly  awaking  in  him.  His  strange  and 
dark  adventure  was  well  calculated  to  inspire  appre- 
hension in  the  most  courageous  mind.  Imprisoned, 
alone,  unarmed,  defenceless,  in  a  padded,  mute  chamber, 
the  door  of  which  was  perhaps  about  to  give  passage  to 
murderers,  Benedict  fell  into  the  deepest  discourage- 
ment.    Another  still  more  terrible  fear  assailed  him. 


120 


dfc  «S»  "**  afe  «5»  ?i?  tp»  ~?  ts?  o£»2i?  3§>3§?li>  e-"  afe 

THE  QUARTETTE 

Suppose  the  murderers  should  not  come  !  Suppose  he 
were  to  be  abandoned  in  that  hideous  room,  a  wretched 
oubliette  used  by  ignoble  assassins !  The  thought  of 
dying  there  of  thirst  and  hunger  like  a  mad  dog,  far 
from  light  and  men,  presented  itself  so  vividly  to  his 
mind  that  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  his  forehead.  He 
would  have  welcomed  an  assassin  standing  on  the 
threshold  of  the  open  door  as  a  delivering  angel,  for  it 
would  have  been  swift  death  without  torture,  instead 
of  a  hideous  agony  more  frightful  even  than  that 
of  Ugolino,  for  the  latter  had  at  least  his  seven  sons 
to  eat. 

He  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  seeking  an  issue, 
sounding  the  walls,  but  there  was  no  other  door  than 
that  which  he  had  vainly  tried  to  break  down;  or  if 
there  were,  it  was  so  skilfully  masked  that  he  could  not 
discover  it.  Besides,  even  if  he  had  found  it  out,  of 
what  use  would  it  have  been  ?  It  was  no  doubt  closed 
by  some  secret  or  complicated  lock,  the  key  of  which 
would  certainly  have  been  taken  away. 

In  the  paroxysms  of  his  despair  Benedict  cursed  God 
and  man.  He  shook  his  list  at  the  dark  ceiling,  for 
lack  of  the  vault  of  heaven,  and  stamped  violently  upon 
the  floor,  unable  to  strike  more  directly  the  face  of 


121 


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step-mother  Cybele.  The  floor  gave  out  a  dull,  hollow 
sound,  for  Benedict  happened  to  stamp  right  over  the 
trap  I  have  spoken  of. 

Great  joy  filled  his  heart  as  he  heard  his  steps 
sounding  over  the  void.  The  hope  of  escape  immedi- 
ately gave  him  back  his  energy  and  his  coolness.  He 
knelt  down,  and  feeling  the  floor  with  his  hands, 
searched  in  every  direction  for  the  ring,  knob,  or  spring 
that  would  cause  the  trap  to  fly  open.  He  soon  found 
the  ring,  and  with  a  mighty  effort  succeeded  in  lifting 
up  the  heavy  door. 

The  air  of  the  underground  passage  struck  his  face, 
and  the  abyss  showed  vaguely  before  him,  more  sombre 
than  obscurity  and  darker  than  night.  Whither  led 
the  opening  ?  Was  it  the  commencement  of  an  under- 
ground passage,  or  a  well  into  which  the  bodies  of 
victims  were  thrown  ?  Was  it  the  receptacle  where  a 
company  of  Burkers  kept  the  bodies  of  their  victims  ? 
Would  he  stumble  over  heaped-up  bones,  or  upon  the 
laden  tables  of  a  clandestine  morgue  ?  Perhaps  some 
eccentric  physician  wished  to  indulge  in  the  anatomical 
amusement  of  dissecting  a  gentleman's  body  and  using 
the  scalpel  upon  the  fibres  of  an  aristocrat,  and  his 
purveyors,  considering  Benedict  a  suitable  subject,  had 


122 


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seized  him  to  sell  him  for  a  sufficient  number  of  guineas 
to  this  dilettante  doctor. 

But  it  was  impossible  to  admit  that  Sidney,  his  child- 
hood's friend,  his  chum  at  Harrow,  was  playing  a  part 
in  this  awful  conspiracy,  and  the  most  horrible  part  of 
all,  that  of  the  tame  ox  which  leads  the  wild  bull  to  the 
arena  or  the  slaughter-house. 

By  putting  out  his  arm  Benedict  felt  the  top  step  of 
a  stair,  and  like  all  brave  men  he  preferred  to  meet 
death  rather  than  await  it  in  stupid  gloom.  He  slipped 
through  the  opening  of  the  trap,  which  he  had  been 
unable  to  throw  back  on  account  of  its  weight,  and 
put  out  his  arm  to  support  the  trap-door,  though  it 
trembled  and  almost  gave  way.  Then,  thinking  that  he 
had  gone  down  enough  steps  for  the  trap  not  to  smash 
his  skull  as  it  closed,  he  bent  down  his  head  and  took 
away  his  hand.  The  trap-door,  left  to  itself,  fell  with 
a  lugubrious  sound  like  the  cover  of  a  coffin  which  falls 
upon  the  dead.  The  obscure  entrance  to  the  subter- 
ranean passage  made  the  sound  still  more  sinister  and 
lamentable.  Brave  though  Benedict  was,  he  felt  chilled 
to  the  very  marrow,  and  said  to  himself:  "If  a  man 
can  hear,  when  his  body  is  sewn  up  in  the  shroud,  the 
sound  of  the  earth  falling  upon  the  coffin  cannot  be 


123 


THE  QUARTETTE 

more  dreadful  and  lugubrious.  Perhaps  I  have  buried 
myself  alive  and  this  black  hole  is  to  be  my  tomb." 

He  continued,  nevertheless,  to  descend  the  steps, 
going  down  carefully,  his  hands  outstretched. 

"  I  only  hope  that  this  passage  has  an  opening,  even 
if  it  does  lead  me  into  a  company  of  bandits,  or  into  a 
sabbath  of  witches,"  said  poor  Benedict,  almost  regret- 
ting the  blood-red  chamber. 

In  the  deep  darkness  there  was  no  light,  not  even  a 
livid  one,  no  star,  not  even  a  bloody  one ;  no  ray  of 
light  in  the  interstices  of  the  planks ;  nothing  but 
deep,  cold,  dreadful  night.  The  unfortunate  young 
man  seemed  to  have  passed  from  the  first  to  the 
second  room  of  his  tomb.  The  wind,  blowing  under 
the  damp  vault,  moaned  like  a  human  voice,  a  sound 
with  which  nature  on  stormy  nights  seems  to  deplore 
unknown  losses ;  vague  lamentations,  stifled  sighs, 
sobs  apparently  escaping  from  a  breaking  heart,  the 
howls  of  victims  pressed  by  the  murderer's  knee, 
the  organ  of  the  tempest  played  for  the  wan  auditor, 
groping  in  the  shadow,  its  whole  symphony  of  sadness 
and  terror. 

As  he  descended,  the  steps  became  damp  and  slip- 
pery, and  a  fine  mist  driven  by  the  wind  struck  his 


124 


tibdb £    i:  rk  &  £  i:  &                            &  dbdb 
THE  QUARTETTE  


face.  The  low  lipping  of  water  could  be  heara 
through  the  gusts,  and  the  spume  of  a  wave,  break- 
ing higher  up  than  the  others,  wetted  his  feet.  He 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  passageway  led  to 
the  Thames,  and  as  he  might  have  rivalled  Lord 
Byron  as  a  swimmer,  he  believed  his  escape  certain. 
Indeed  nothing  could  be  easier  for  a  swimmer  such  as 
he  was  than  to  reach  the  opening  of  the  archway  on 
the  river  and  then  ascend  or  descend  towards  the  shore 
according  to  the  place  where  he  would  find  himself. 
Cheered  by  this  hope,  he  fancied  himself  already 
seated  by  Annabel  telling  her  of  his  strange  adventure, 
and  begging  her  to  forgive  him  the  anxiety  which  he 
had  most  involuntarily  caused  her.  With  the  incredi- 
ble speed  characteristic  of  thought,  which  is  a  fluid 
as  swift,  or  even  swifter  than  electricity,  innumerable 
lovely  pictures  passed  through  his  mind  during  the 
short  space  of  time  it  took  him  to  go  down  three 
steps.  He  saw  himself  before  the  altar,  pressing  Miss 
Annabel  Vyvyan's  delicate  hand,  then  on  the  threshold 
of  the  nuptial  chamber,  and,  in  a  still  more  distant 
picture,  in  his  country  seat  at  Richmond.  He  was 
standing  by  Annabel's  side  under  the  veranda  at 
the  top  of  the  marble  steps,  watching  a  lovely,  fair- 


125 


THE  QUARTETTE  

haired  child  playing  upon  the  green  sward  with  a 
tame  deer. 

His  beautiful  dreams  vanished  suddenly  and  were 
replaced  by  the  vision  and  the  hallucination  of  despair. 
His  outstretched  hand  had  struck  against  an  iron  grat- 
ing. The  road  was  barred  on  this  side,  and  on  the 
other  return  was  impossible.  Arundel's  exhausted 
strength  could  never  have  sufficed  to  raise  the  heavy 
trap-door. 

"  What  have  I  done,  O  God,  to  be  damned  alive  ? " 
he  cried  sorrowfully.  "  What  unknown  crime  am  I 
to  expiate  here  ?  Oh,  Annabel !  however  sad  the 
suppositions  in  which  you  are  now  doubtless  indulg- 
ing as  to  my  fate,  they  are  far  from  approaching  the 
reality."  And  by  a  last  effort  of  ever-springing  hope, 
which  never  abandons  man,  and  which  abides  with  the 
victim  even  when  his  neck  is  under  the  knife,  Bene- 
dict shook  each  one  of  the  bars,  one  after  another, 
trying  to  move  or  to  draw  them  away ;  but  they 
were  fastened  firmly,  and  rust  had  soldered  the  joints. 
A  score  of  times,  having  found  the  lock,  poor  Benedict 
tore  his  fingers  as  he  attempted  to  unscrew  it  or  to 
shoot  back  the  bolt.  While  he  indulged  in  this  useless 
attempt,  for  the  massive  and  complicated  lock  would 


126 


THE  QUARTETTE  

have  done  honour  to  the  door  of  one  of  the  Newgate 
cells,  a  wave  lapped  him  with  its  icy-cold  caress.  Bene- 
dict, chilled,  his  teeth  chattering,  his  wedding  garments 
wetted,  ascended  a  few  steps  to  avoid  the  water,  and 
sat  down  like  one  of  the  sombre,  crouching  figures 
which  Dante  Alighieri  has  placed  upon  the  steps  of 
his  Hell.  He  remained  there  with  the  gloomy  resig- 
nation of  the  wild  beast  at  bay,  of  the  savage  taken 
prisoner,  —  how  long  he  knew  not,  whether  it  was  an 
eternity  or  an  hour  only.  He  had  no  longer  a  clear 
perception  of  things,  and  the  wheels  of  madness  were 
beginning  to  whirl  in  his  head. 

During  a  moment  of  comparative  calm,  he  thought 
he  would  like  to  know  the  hour,  remembering  that  he 
had  his  repeater  in  his  pocket ;  but  his  hand,  chilled 
by  cold,  pressed  the  spring  too  strongly  or  unskilfully. 
It  broke  and  sounded  stridently  under  the  gold  of  the 
case.  Poor  Benedict  was  in  the  position  of  those 
prisoners  in  the  Siberian  mines  who  are  made  to 
work  for  two  hours  and  then  sleep  for  two  hours, 
in  order  that  they  may  not  know  how  much  time 
they  have  left ;  for  although  they  never  see  the  sun, 
the  division  of  work  and  rest  would  allow  them  to 
count.    To  await  death  in  darkness  without  knowing 


127 


THE  QUARTETTE 

the  time,  —  what  a  torture!  one  which  Satan  has 
forgotten. 

Soon  nothing  was  heard  under  the  vault  save  the 
low  sound  made  by  the  yawl,  as  it  rose  and  fell  on 
the  tide,  and  bumped  against  the  wall  of  the  sub- 
terranean canal. 


128 


•4y^jjj  *4*    *i*  *4»  *A*    *4*  •A*  '^tS??*?  ?*?  tf??l?  mw^b^i  4?  *^*  tf» 


THE  QUARTETTE 

VIII 

AFTER  a  time  which  seemed  eternal  to  Sir 
Arundel,  but  which  in  reality  was  not  much 
more  than  an  hour,  —  for  time  does  not 
exist,  and  despair  or  weariness  may  make  a  minute 
seem  an  age,  —  a  dull  sound  of  steps  was  heard  above 
the  vault,  and  some  rays  of  light  showed  the  place  where 
lay  the  trap-door.  Soon  the  heavy  door  was  lifted,  a 
livid,  flickering  ray  fell  in  the  damp  obscurity,  and 
through  the  narrow  opening  showed,  by  the  side  of 
a  candle,  Saunders'  characteristic  face. 

Arundel  hastily  ascended  the  steps,  and  though  he 
was  bold  as  the  brave  knights  from  whom  he  was 
descended,  it  was  not  without  a  real  feeling  of  plea- 
sure that  he  saw  Saunders'  head  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs.  A  winged  cherub  would  not  have  seemed 
lovelier  to  him,  and  yet  there  was  nothing  celestial 
about  Saunders.  But  Arundel  felt  at  the  sight  of 
him  the  same  joy  as  a  man  buried  alive,  who  sees 
the  tombstone   lifted  up,  and  to  whom  the  hideous 


9 


I29 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Shakespearean  grave-digger  is  a  bright  angel  of  light. 
Although  the  hero  of  a  novel  should  never  be  sus- 
ceptible to  any  emotions  except  love,  it  is  uncom- 
monly unpleasant  to  die  of  cold  and  starvation  in 
a  frock  coat,  white  gloves  and  patent-leather  boots, 
in  an  icy  cave  on  a  stair  washed  by  the  tide,  on  the 
day  of  one's  own  wedding  with  one  of  the  loveliest 
heiresses  in  London. 

"  Where  the  devil  has  he  got  to  ?  "  murmured 
Saunders,  before  the  ray  of  the  candle  fell  upon 
Arundel  in  the  darkness.  "  I  am  quite  sure  I  double 
locked  the  grating,  and  the  bars  are  close  enough  to 
each  other  for  the  finest  gentleman,  even  if  he  wore  a 
woman's  corset,  to  find  it  impossible  to  get  through.  He 
is  bound  to  be  either  in  the  room  or  in  the  passageway. 
Well,  I  '11  go  down  and  explore  for  myself." 

Scarcely  had  Saunders  set  foot  upon  the  upper  steps 
when  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Arundel,  who 
was  hastily  coming  up. 

"  Oh  !  there  you  are,  sir,"  said  the  sailor  with  an 
air  of  rough  cordiality  and  visible  satisfaction.  "  You 
found  the  second  room  of  your  apartment  some- 
what cold  and  damp,  did  n't  you  ?  You  regretted 
the  first."    And  with  his  rough  hand,  he  supported 

130 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Sir  Benedict  Arundel,  who  was  staggering  on  the 
edge  of  the  trap. 

Benedict  let  himself  fall  on  the  bench  near  the  table. 
Saunders  poked  up  the  half-burned  coal  and  made  it 
flame  again.  Arundel,  revived  by  the  warm  air  of 
the  room,  and  assured  at  least  of  not  dying  without 
explanation,  actually  thought  the  horrible  den  with  its 
queer,  sinister  drawings  almost  pleasant,  and  experi- 
enced comparative  comfort.  Saunders'  face,  though 
rough,  was  not  malevolent,  and  Benedict  attempted  to 
draw  him  into  conversation. 

"  What  is  the  meaning,"  he  said,  "  of  this  absurd 
kidnapping  ?  Do  you  intend  to  rob  me,  to  have  me 
sign  drafts,  or  to  murder  me  ?  " 

Saunders  shook  his  head  and  answered,  "  I  think,  on 
the  contrary,  that  if  you  needed  money,  sir,  it  would  be 
given  you." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  nothing  to  harm  you,  for  on  the 
contrary  I  have  been  told  to  take  the  greatest  care  of 
you,  and  you  will  be  treated  as  carefully  as  a  case  of 
clocks  or  Bohemian  glass." 

"  Do  you  know  the  man  by  whom  I  was  walking  in 
the  lane,  Sir  Arthur  Sidney  ?  " 

*3* 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  I  saw  him  to-day  for  the  first  time,"  answered 
Saunders,  whose  steel-blue  eyes  steadily  sustained  Sir 
Benedict's  penetrating  glance. 

"  Then  Sidney  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  abomi- 
nable conspiracy,"  said  Benedict  to  himself,  happy  at 
being  able  to  dismiss  a  suspicion  which  had  painfully 
weighed  on  his  mind.  "  But  how  is  it  that,  being  so 
close  to  me,  he  did  not  assist  me  and  did  not  call  for 
help  ?  "  he  thought,  as  doubt  again  recurred  to  him. 

"What  induced  you  to  do  this?"  continued  Arun- 
del ;  "  you  would  be  severely  punished  if  the  law  got 
hold  of  you." 

"  I  obeyed  the  orders  of  those  whom  I  promised  to 
obey,  and  as  for  the  law  — "  Saunders  shrugged  his 
shoulders  significantly,  by  way  of  inferring  that  he  was 
uncommonly  sceptical  with  regard  to  the  perspicacity 
of  the  police. 

"  And  who  are  the  people  whom  you  obey  in  such 
venturesome  enterprises  ?  " 

"  If  I  were  to  tell  you  their  names,  you  would  be  no 
wiser.  You  have  never  had  anything  to  do  with 
them." 

"  Well,  do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  No.    I  know  neither  your  name  nor  your  title. 


132 


THE  QUARTETTE 

Only  I  can  tell  by  your  aristocratic  face,  your  small 
hands,  and  the  quality  of  your  clothes  and  linen,  that 
you  belong  to  the  aristocracy." 

"  If  you  will  open  that  door  to  me  and  take  me  back 
to  the  street,  I  am  rich  enough  to  secure  you  a  small 
competence  which  would  enable  you  to  live  as  you 
please  in  the  country  you  prefer." 

On  hearing  this  proposal,  Saunders'  tanned  face 
turned  brick  red,  and  his  sea-blue  eyes  sparkled  in  his 
face,  which  had  become  sombre.  He  quickly  re- 
covered himself,  and  quietly  replied  :  "  Although  the 
business  I  am  in  is  not  a  very  clean  one,  I  am  not  in 
the  habit  of  betraying  those  who  have  trusted  me,  even 
when  it  is  an  ugly  piece  of  business.  Besides,  even  if 
I  were  willing  to  set  you  at  liberty  in  return  for  your 
gold,  I  could  not  do  it.  The  door  is  locked  outside, 
and  I  am  as  much  a  prisoner  as  you  are." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed  this  reply.  Then 
Saunders,  whose  face  had  resumed  its  natural  colour, 
opened  a  closet  in  the  wall  and  drew  from  it  a  piece 
of  salt  beef,  some  bread,  and  a  pewter  of  beer,  which 
he  placed  upon  the  table  beside  Arundel,  saying  with  a 
respectfully  jovial  look  :  "  You  must  have  breakfasted 
early  this  morning,  sir;  I  fancy  you  did  not  have  any 


133 


THE  QUARTETTE 


luncheon,  and  it  is  long  past  the  dinner  hour.  How- 
ever troubled  you  may  be,  nature  does  not  lose  its 
rights,  and  though  your  heart  is  filled  with  grief,  you 
may  not  be  sorry  to  eat  something." 

In  spite  of  his  despair  and  his  anger,  Arundel,  or  at 
least  the  physical  part  of  him,  recognised  the  sound- 
ness of  the  reasoning,  drew  near  the  food  provided  by 
Saunders,  and  began  to  eat,  with  grief,  but  with  a  fairly 
good  appetite. 

"  The  meat  is  not  very  delicate,"  said  Saunders,  "  yet 
that  salt  beef  was  cut  from  the  haunch  of  one  of  the 
best  Lancashire  beeves,  and  this  beer,  darker  than  pitch 
and  topped  by  golden  froth,  is  double  stout,  the  best 
brewed  in  Dublin  with  barley  and  hops,  such  as  you 
cannot  match  in  the  most  famous  London  tavern." 

Benedict  acknowledged  the  truth  of  Saunders'  re- 
marks as  he  cut  several  slices  of  the  beef  thus  praised, 
and  drained  to  the  dregs  the  pewter  pot. 


'34 


THE  QUARTETTE 


IX 

SIR  BENEDICT  ARUNDEL'S  frugal  repast 
was  scarcely  ended,  when  the  trap-door  opened 
and  the  four  fellows  whose  appearance  from 
underground  I  have  already  described,  issued  slowly 
from  below.  One  of  them  exchanged  a  few  words 
with  Saunders  in  a  strange  tongue,  which  Benedict 
could  not  understand.  The  sentences  appeared  to  be 
composed  of  a  single  word,  as  in  idioms  which  one 
does  not  know.  It  was  Gaelic,  with,  to  make  it  more 
difficult  to  understand,  a  certain  number  of  slang  words. 

Two  of  the  new-comers  approached  the  trap,  and 
Saunders,  advancing  towards  Sir  Benedict  Arundel,  said 
to  him  :  "  If  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  follow  us, 
sir,  —  it  is  time  to  start." 

"  To  start !  "  cried  Arundel,  withdrawing  instinc- 
tively from  the  trap. 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  said  Saunders,  politely,  "  you  will 
understand  that  it  is  better  to  come  with  us  willingly. 
There  are  five  of  us,  able-bodied,  every  one  armed,  so 


!35 


THE  QUARTETTE 

that  it  is  no  use  to  make  a  fight.  It  is  our  business  to 
carry  out  the  orders  we  have  received ;  if  need  be,  we 
shall  use  force,  —  as  little  as  necessary,  for  we  do  not 
wish  to  harm  you." 

"  I  will  follow  you,"  answered  Arundel,  seeing  that 
it  was  hopeless  to  do  anything  else,  and  thinking  to 
himself  that  he  would  have  a  chance  to  escape  once  he 
got  outside. 

The  company  disappeared  down  the  black  opening, 
Saunders  going  last,  leading  Benedict,  resigned  to  his 
fate  for  the  time  being.  They  went  down  some 
twenty  steps,  and  reached  the  grating  which  had 
stopped  Arundel's  escape.  There  Saunders  said  to 
him  :  — 

"  I  shall  be  obliged  to  gag  you,  sir,  though  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  do  so,  unless  you  will  give  me  your 
word  of  honour  not  to  shout  and  not  to  call  for  help. 
I  do  not  care  to  muzzle  you  like  a  calf  crying  for  its 
mother." 

As  the  result  would  be  the  same  in  either  case, 
whether  he  were  gagged  or  gave  his  word,  Arundel 
promised  to  keep  silence. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  not  to  try  to  escape ;  that 
is  my  business,"  said  Saunders,  putting  the  gag  back 


136 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

into  his  pocket,  and  taking  out  the  key  to  open  the 
grating. 

One  of  the  sailors  held  the  lantern  up,  and  the  key, 
having  been  put  into  the  lock  rusted  by  the  damp, 
would  have  turned  with  difficulty  in  a  hand  less  vigo- 
rous than  that  of  Saunders.  He  turned  it  three  times, 
and  the  heavy  gate,  pushed  by  two  of  the  sailors,  grated 
on  its  hinges  with  a  harsh  sound.  The  men  sat  down 
on  their  thwarts  and  placed  their  sweeps  on  the  gun- 
wale of  the  yawl  with  perfect  symmetry,  waiting  orders. 
Saunders  seated  himself  in  the  stern-sheets  with  Bene- 
dict by  his  side.  Just  as  the  boat,  impelled  forward  by 
the  oars,  was  starting,  a  stray  gleam  of  the  lantern 
showed  for  a  moment  in  the  bow  a  sombre  figure 
enveloped  in  a  cloak  cast  over  the  shoulder,  and  wear- 
ing a  hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes  ;  but  Saunders 
blew  out  the  lantern,  and  everything  was  dark  again. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  moments  the  boat  issued  from 
the  sombre  canal  on  to  the  waters  of  the  Thames. 
The  fog,  blown  away  by  the  wind,  was  vanishing  in 
rags  like  pieces  of  stuff  carried  off  by  "the  tempest. 
The  heavens  were  low,  gloomy,  and  black  like  the 
vault  of  a  tomb  filled  with  the  smoke  of  the  visitors' 
torches.    The  sinister  dome,  in  which   lighter  veins 


37 


THE  QUARTETTE 


represented  cracks,  seemed  about  to  fall  in  great  blocks 
upon  the  sleeping  town,  the  dentellated  ebony  silhouette 
of  which  on  either  side  of  the  river  was  studded  with 
only  occasional  dots  of  light.  The  night  was  a  hor- 
rible one. 

A  heavy  sea  was  running.  The  cables  of  the  ships 
drew  taut  with  painful  creakings  like  those  of  the 
muscles  of  a  patient  stretched  on  the  rack  ;  boats  col- 
lided with  lugubrious  sounds,  and  the  heavy  water  fell 
back  on  itself  with  a  sigh  of  oppression  and  exhaustion, 
like  that  which  issues  from  a  chest  oppressed  by  the 
nightmare.  The  wind  uttered  moans  like  the  cries  of 
a  child  murdered  by  witches  in  their  nameless  work, 
and  over  the  maze  of  plaintive,  indefinable,  and  sinister 
sounds,  soared  like  the  low  rumble  of  thunder  the  dis- 
tant moaning  of  the  waves  returning  to  their  homes. 

The  buildings  along  the  river  —  stores,  warehouses, 
works  with  tall  obelisks  blue  with  flames,  landing- 
places  with  broad  steps,  churches  raising  above  the 
houses  their  great  Norman  towers  or  their  pseudo- 
classic  campaniles  —  lost  in  the  shadow  the  mean  ap- 
pearance they  had  in  daylight,  and  assumed  cyclopaean 
and  colossal  proportions.  The  roofs  became  oriental 
terraces,  the  chimney-pots  obelisks  and  lighthouses, 


4k  »|»  «ti  rJU  ri*  »A%  (ia  rl»  «f«  »A»  JJ» j^tjjftj? tj? it?  tt?sS?si?itrtS?  «t?SS?«l? 

THE  QUARTETTE 

the  gigantic  sign  of  open-work  letters  looked  like  the 
traceried  balustrade  of  an  aerial  balcony ;  the  whole 
place,  sombre,  immense,  and  vague,  seemed  a  Nineveh 
over  which  was  passing  the  cloud  of  the  wrath  of  God. 
A  mezzotint  engraver  would  have  made  of  it,  with  a 
few  gleams  of  livid  light,  one  of  those  terrific  Biblical 
pictures  in  which  the  English  excel. 

Sir  Benedict  Arundel,  seeing  the  boat  passing  fairly 
near  to  the  shore,  and  feeling  the  hand  with  which 
Saunders  grasped  his  arm  as  with  an  iron  ring  some- 
what less  close,  thought  he  had  a  chance  to  deceive  his 
keeper,  and  made  such  an  abrupt  jump  that  the  boat 
nearly  upset.  He  was  almost  over  the  gunwale,  his 
feet  were  touching  the  water,  and  a  few  strokes  alone 
separated  him  from  the  shore  ;  but  Saunders'  vigorous 
grasp,  clutching  him  like  pincers,  brought  him  back  to 
his  seat,  and  with  a  mighty  push  compelled  him  to 
keep  down.  During  this  episode,  as  rapid  as  thought, 
the  stranger,  motionless  and  silent  in  the  bows,  had 
risen,  stretching  out  his  hands  as  if  to  help  Saunders, 
for  the  four  rowers  had  all  they  could  do  to  keep  the 
boat  on  an  even  keel  in  the  swirl  of  the  tide.  As  the 
stranger  moved,  the  folds  of  his  cloak  fell  aside,  and 
Benedict  thought  he  recognised  the  face  of  his  friend 


39 


THE  QUARTETTE 

Sidney,  but  the  man  drew  his  cloak  over  his  shoulder 
so  that  the  upper  portion  of  it  concealed  his  face,  while 
his  eyes  were  hidden  in  the  shadow  projected  by  the 
broad-brimmed  hat ;  his  identity  had  again  become 
impenetrable. 

Meanwhile  the  gale  increased.  The  furious  wind 
seemed  to  take  filaments  of  rain  and  shoot  them  hissing 
from  its  bow  like  icy  arrows.  The  dense  spray  filled 
the  air,  and  the  foam  of  the  waves,  blown  in  patches, 
scattered  sparkling  through  the  darkness.  The  sea 
was  so  heavy  that  it  often  rose  over  the  gunwale,  and 
the  rowers,  their  feet  braced  against  the  stretchers, 
their  bodies  bent  back,  and  tugging  away  with  all  their 
might  at  the  oars,  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  keeping 
the  boat  straight. 

Concealed  between  two  great  waves,  the  yawl  passed 
unperceived  before  the  police  station,  the  red  lamp  of 
which  seemed  half  asleep,  like  the  eyes  of  a  drunkard. 

"  It  is  blowing  fit  to  take  your  hair  off,"  murmured 
Saunders  ;  and  seeing  that  Benedict  was  shivering  in 
his  thin  black  coat,  he  threw  over  him  a  coarse  cloak 
which  he  picked  up  with  his  feet  from  the  bottom  of 
the  boat.  "  One  thing  is  sure,"  he  went  on,  "  in  this 
weather  we  shall  not  meet  many  boats  on  the  Thames. 

140 


THE  QUARTETTE 


The  weather  favours  us,  — a  little  too  much,  perhaps," 
he  added,  as  he  was  struck  in  the  face  by  the  spray  of 
a  breaking  wave. 

The  passage  under  the  bridges  was  particularly  terri- 
fying. The  water  rolled  under  the  arches  in  sombre 
cataracts  with  a  terrifying  noise  and  fearful  spraying ; 
the  wind,  which  was  blowing  in  the  opposite  direction, 
opposed,  though  it  could  not  stop,  the  wild  rush  of  the 
waves,  which  whirled  in  eddies  and  were  maddened  by 
this  resistance  in  the  narrow  passage  between  the  piles, 
which  caused  their  mass  to  bound  back.  The  wind 
howled,  the  water  hissed  and  roared,  and  the  damp 
echoes  of  the  arches  repeated  these  noises  and  made 
them  more  frightful  still. 

The  boat,  steered  with  miraculous  tact  and  almost 
inconceivable  perspicacity  in  the  deep  night,  shot  safely 
through  the  centre  of  the  safest  arch  and  then  issued 
on  the  other  side,  dainty,  coquettish,  and  proud,  as  it 
had  certainly  the  right  to  be. 

As  it  was  passing  Blackfriars  Bridge,  a  white  shape, 
falling  from  above,  shot  rapidly  past  the  axis  of  the 
arch  and  fell  in  the  water  like  swan's-down  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  boat.  The  swan's-down  struggled,  and 
the  two  arms  of  a  woman  showed  above  the  skirt  bal- 

141 


^  £  'k  &  :b 4:  £    4: 4:  rh  4:4:  tlr  dfc  4:  4:  4:  4:  4:  db  4:  4:  J: 

THE  QUARTETTE 


looned  by  the  fall.  When  the  yawl,  carried  along, 
passed  near  the  pale  phantom  floating  on  the  black 
waters  like  an  elf  or  a  nixie  of  the  German  legends, 
two  desperate  hands  grasped  the  gunwale  with  such 
nervous  vigour,  though  they  were  weak  and  delicate, 
that  the  nails  sank  into  the  wood  like  iron  claws.  If 
any  one  in  the  boat  had  thought  of  looking  up,  and 
especially  if  the  night  had  been  less  dark,  he  might 
have  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  human  form  bending  over 
the  parapet  of  the  bridge. 

The  boat  heeled  over  suddenly,  shipped  a  sea,  and 
would  have  capsized  had  the  men  not  immediately 
leaned  over  to  the  other  side.  A  terrified  face,  so  pale 
that  it  was  visible  even  in  the  darkness,  rose  above 
the  edge  of  the  boat  amid  soaking  hair ;  the  two  dilated 
eyes  shone  like  globules  of  burnished  silver,  and  the 
purple  lips  spoke  these  words  in  inexpressible  accents  : 

"  Save  me  !  save  me  !  " 

"What's  to  be  done?"  cried  Saunders.  "If  she 
goes  on  like  that  she  will  upset  us  or  stop  our  way  ;  and 
yet  it  would  be  hard  to  cut  off"  her  hands,  though  there 
is  no  other  way  to  make  her  let  go,  and  duck  her  again 
in  that  ugly  black  water  which  so  frightens  her." 

"That  would  be  an  abominable  crime,"  said  Bene- 


142 


THE  QUARTETTE 

diet,  as  he  seized  the  unfortunate  woman's  arms  and 
tried  to  pull  her  into  the  boat. 

The  men  moved  over  to  the  other  side,  and  as  the 
mysterious  individual  in  the  bows  said  nothing,  Saunders 
helped  Benedict,  and  soon  the  woman,  having  been 
helped  into  the  yawl,  sat  down,  or  rather  sank,  at  Bene- 
dict's feet. 

The  boat's  speed,  retarded  for  a  moment  by  this 
incident,  was  increased  to  make  up  for  lost  time;  Lon- 
don Bridge  was  soon  left  behind,  and  the  yawl  flew 
faster  than  an  arrow  among  the  lines  of  vessels,  the 
yards  of  which  creaked  with  a  mournful  sound,  while 
the  blocks  shrieked  like  night  birds. 

A  deep  silence  reigned  in  the  boat;  the  men  seemed 
to  hold  their  breath ;  the  muffled  oars  struck  the  water 
quietly,  as  if  it  were  a  mist,  and  the  only  sound  heard 
was  the  chattering  of  the  teeth  of  the  poor  woman, 
shivering  in  her  wet  garments. 

They  at  last  emerged  from  the  great  city  of  ships 
that  lies  between  London  Bridge  and  the  Isle  of  Dogs, 
and  the  oarsmen  pulled  harder  and  less  carefully  in  a 
less  turbulent  seaway,  for  the  fury  of  the  storm  was 
now  somewhat  spent. 

Benedict,  who  had  stretched  a  portion  of  the  over- 


143 


THE  QUARTETTE 


coat  Saunders  had  lent  him  over  the  shoulders  of  the 
unfortunate  young  woman, —  who  had  nothing  on  but 
a  white  muslin  dress,  —  did  not  suspect  that  he  had 
seen  her  already  once  that  day,  under  the  porch  of 
Saint  Margaret's,  where  his  coat-sleeve  had  brushed 
against  her  lace  veil ;  and  surely  poor  Edith  Harley, 
for  she  it  was,  was  far  from  supposing  that  the  man  at 
whose  feet  she  was  sobbing  convulsively  on  this  icy- 
cold  night  was  the  unfortunate  Benedict  Arundel. 

A  strange  destiny  had  brought  together  in  this  frail 
boat,  in  the  midst  of  the  storm,  a  wifeless  husband  and 
a  husbandless  wife ;  a  capricious  will,  parting  couples 
that  seemed  so  well  made  for  each  other,  had  formed 
a  new  combination  out  of  the  broken  and  disjoined 
pieces. 


44 


»!/»  rii  „i,  ri/»        *JU        »A»  «4*  *4»  *4*  »i»       «4*  ri^  rl«  »A»  «Ai  <-i»  #1*  >X>  •!<•  »1»  »lj 

THE  QUARTETTE 

X 

THE  boat  proceeded  some  distance  further, 
until  it  was  nearly  opposite  Gravesend. 
The  tempest  had  calmed  down,  and  the 
sky,  though  still  threatening,  allowed  a  few  stars  to 
show  in  the  dark  blue  of  night,  through  broader  open- 
ings in  the  clouds.  The  sea,  moved  to  its  very  depths, 
was  still  running  heavily,  and  breaking  upon  the  shores 
of  the  river,  which  here  broadened  out  into  an  estuary. 
The  wind  roared  in  the  distance  like  a  snarling,  cow- 
ardly dog  that  has  been  kicked. 

A  black  hull,  surmounted  by  light  spars,  seemed  to 
emerge  from  the  water,  and  showed  faintly  in  the  dark ; 
it  was  the  "  Lovely  Jenny  "  at  anchor.  She  had  been 
masked  till  then  by  a  turn  in  the  river.  Every  one  on 
board  appeared  to  be  sound  asleep ;  the  hatches  were 
carefully  closed ;  not  a  light  was  visible  i  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  creaking  of  the  blocks  and  the  last  blasts 
of  the  storm.  Such  a  silence  was  too  deep  to  be 
natural ;  in  fact,  the  «  Lovely  Jenny  "  slept  with  one 


H5 


•1*  rl%  rX,  e,t»  .  {  •>     '-i  t  i%  ».5.i         *■£-»  •!*  »A»  ^*  »A»  r-K  ri^  «1«  »1»  ».|^  »,to 

THE  QUARTETTE 

eye  open,  for  the  yawl  had  no  sooner  come  within  hail 
than  a  head  showed  above  the  rail,  and  bending  towards 
the  stream,  called  out  in  a  low  but  distinct  voice, 
"  Hello  !  ahoy,  is  that  you  ?  " 

u  Yes,"  replied  Saunders,  in  the  same  careful  way, 
"  and  here  is  the  watchword  :  Crabs  walk  backwards, 
but  they  reach  their  destination." 

"  That  is  a  wise  maxim,"  added  Macgill,  as  he 
showed  at  the  top  of  the  side-ladder. 

The  boat  had  come  alongside  the  "  Lovely  Jenny," 
and  Saunders,  still  holding  Arundel's  arm  with  one 
hand,  with  the  other  seized  one  of  the  side  lines, 
and  began  to  ascend  the  ladder.  Arundel  thought  for 
a  moment  of  letting  himself  fall,  but  Saunders'  hand 
held  him  like  a  vice;  and  besides,  the  other  men  who 
were  coming  up  had  their  hands  within  reach  of  his 
feet,  and  would  no  doubt  have  held  him  back.  Then 
he  might  also  have  fallen  into  the  boat  below. 

Any  attempt  at  escape  being  therefore  impossible, 
he  continued  to  ascend  as  slowly  as  if  he  were  going 
up  to  the  gallows,  for  he  felt  that  every  step  he  took 
separated  him  still  further  from  Annabel.  The  way 
he  was  being  transferred,  with  so  much  precaution  and 
mystery,  to  a  vessel  that  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  him, 


146 


THE  QUARTETTE 


proved  that  the  plan  had  long  been  laid.  All  these 
silent  agents  were  obeying  a  will  whose  purpose  he 
could  not  fathom.  What  did  they  propose  to  do  with 
him  ?  To  carry  him  to  some  distant  place,  to  keep 
him  in  return  for  a  ransom  to  be  exacted  from  his 
parents  or  his  friends  ?  Was  he  a  victim,  in  London 
itself,  of  a  band  of  brigands  such  as  those  who  carry 
their  prisoners  away  into  the  mountains,  and  then  send 
to  the  city  one  of  the  ears  of  their  prisoner,  by  way  of 
hastening  payment  ? 

After  having  intrusted  Sir  Benedict  Arundel  to  Jack 
and  Macgill,  Saunders  went  down  into  the  boat  again. 
"  What  are  we  to  do  with  the  woman  ?  "  he  asked  of 
the  man  with  the  cloak,  still  seated  in  the  bows  ;  "  it 
would  be  pretty  hard  to  throw  her  overboard  again, 
after  having  saved  her  life." 

"  Take  her  up  on  deck,"  sharply  returned  the  man 
wrapped  up  in  the  mantle. 

Edith  had  listened  to  this  conversation,  which  was 
to  decide  her  fate,  as  if  she  were  wholly  unconcerned 
in  it.  She  was  shivering  all  over,  and  delirium  was 
already  attacking  her  brain.  A  prey  to  the  daze  of 
fever,  she  allowed  herself  to  be  taken  up  and  carried 
away  like  a  sick  child  by  its  nurse.     Saunders,  accus- 

>47 


THE  QUARTETTE 

tomed  to  heavier  burdens,  climbed  the  ladder  as  nimbly 
as  a  cat,  and  soon  reached  the  deck  with  Miss  Edith, 
whom  he  placed  against  the  mast,  for  she  could  scarcely 
stand  ;  her  limp  limbs,  no  longer  guided  by  her  will, 
refused  to  perform  their  office.  The  man  with  the 
mantle  ordered  Saunders  to  take  her  below,  where  she 
could  neither  see  nor  be  seen. 

The  order  was  at  once  carried  out,  and  the  deck  of 
the  "  Lovely  Jenny,"  once  more  deserted,  sounded  only 
under  the  steps  of  the  man  with  the  mantle,  who  walked 
up  and  down  the  quarter-deck,  noting  the  veering  of 
the  wind.  Benedict  had  also  been  at  once  led  into  the 
main  cabin,  by  Jack  and  Macgill,  and  carefully  locked 
up  in  his  new  prison. 

The  cabin  was  adorned  with  much  elegance :  the 
bed,  concealed  by  damask  curtains  was  of  mahogany  ;  a 
black  horsehair  sofa,  a  swinging  table,  and  a  small  lamp 
hanging  from  the  ceiling,  —  formed  the  furniture. 
But  the  port,  as  Benedict  immediately  discovered,  was 
formed  of  a  round  piece  of  ground  glass,  carefully  fitted, 
and  so  thick  as  to  neither  allow  any  one  to  look  out 
nor  to  give  any  hope  of  escaping  that  way.  The  door 
appeared  to  be  as  carefully  closed. 

Seeing  that  any  attempt  at  flight  was  useless,  Arundel 


ts?  sb  tfc  *b      db  sb  db  4?  4?  4?  4?  tb  tb  tb  ib  tb  4?  tb  4?  sb  4?  tb 

THE  QUARTETTE 


sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  remained  there  sunk  into 
something  approaching  insensibility,  enduring  his  fate 
with  the  dull  patience  of  a  savage  or  a  captive  wild 
animal.  He  was  weary  of  making  suppositions  and 
useless  projects  ;  neither  perspicacity,  intelligence,  nor 
resolution  could  be  of  any  use  to  him.  Caught  in  a 
hopeless  net  by  an  unknown  enemy,  like  a  poor  fly 
in  the  web  of  a  mysterious  spider,  the  only  result 
of  his  struggles  would  be  to  make  his  position  worse  ; 
a  victim  to  a  horrible  trick  or  an  infamous  piece  of 
treachery,  he  had  simply  to  await  his  fate  silently. 
Worn  out  by  the  events  and  emotions  of  that  terrible 
day,  though  he  desired  to  remain  awake  and  to  note 
what  would  happen,  he  felt  his  eyelids  close  in  spite  of 
himself.  Although  his  mind  was  wide  awake,  his  body 
was  sinking  into  sleep. 

Meanwhile  the  wind  had  veered,  and  Captain 
Peppercull,  who  was  engaged  in  drinking  rum  to  keep 
out  the  night  air,  abandoned  his  pleasant  occupation, 
and  on  the  advice  of  the  stranger  with  the  black  mantle, 
who  had  watched  the  wind  with  the  eye  of  an  experi- 
enced sea-faring  man,  went  up  on  deck,  staggering  a 
little.  As  the  fog  was  particularly  damp  that  night, 
Captain  Peppercull,  like  a  very  prudent  man,  had  taken 


149 


THE  QUARTETTE 

extraordinary  precautions  against  it ;  but  he  was  not 
the  kind  of  fellow  to  be  overcome  by  a  glass  of  rum, 
and  two  or  three  breaths  of  fresh  air  soon  made  him 
himself  again. 

"Captain,  the  tide  is  with  us,  the  wind  has  gone 
around  ;  we  must  be  off  to  sea,  for  our  expedition  to 
England  is  over,"  said  the  man  with  the  mantle,  as 
Peppercull  came  on  deck. 

"  To  hear  is  to  obey,"  replied  the  latter,  uncon- 
sciously parodying  the  formula  of  Eastern  devotion ; 
for  the  man  with  the  mantle  seemed  to  inspire  him 
with  respect  mixed  with  fear,  though  naturally  Captain 
Peppercull  was  neither  servile  nor  cowardly.  The  word 
was  passed  to  heave  the  anchor,  the  capstan  bars  were 
shipped,  and  the  crew  having  manned  them  began  to 
walk  around,  singing  on  a  plaintive  rhythm  a  singular 
chant  composed  of  the  plaint  of  the  wind,  the  sob  of  the 
wave,  and  the  cry  of  the  gull,  in  which  the  restlessness 
of  nature  seems  to  mingle  with  human  effort.  The 
anchor  came  away,  and  already  several  turns  of  the 
chain  had  been  rolled  around  the  drum  of  the  capstan, 
wetting  the  deck  with  mud. 

By  the  strange  sound,  and  the  regular  trampling 
which  accompanied  it,  Benedict  —  who  was  already  half 


150 


THE  QUARTETTE 

carried  away  into  a  dream  full  of  strange  catastrophes 
and  sinister  apparitions,  the  confused  image  of  his  ad- 
ventures of  the  day  —  understood  that  the  anchor  was 
being  got  up  and  the  vessel  preparing  to  start.  Al- 
though this  did  not  make  his  situation  much  worse, 
and  at  bottom  he  cared  little  enough  whether  he  was  a 
captive  in  a  motionless  prison  or  in  a  travelling  one, 
he  felt  deep  sadness  overcoming  him.  To  be  a  pris- 
oner in  England,  in  a  land  full  of  friends  engaged  in 
seeking  him  out,  to  breathe  the  same  air  as  Annabel,  — 
was  still  some  consolation  ;  now  he  could  not  count 
upon  the  efforts  of  his  relatives  and  friends  to  find  him 
out.  How  would  it  be  possible  to  discover  his  track 
in  a  wake  which  vanished  almost  as  soon  as  formed? 
Annabel  was  lost  forever  to  him. 

The  singular  chant  still  continued.  Soon  the  anchor 
was  catted  and  fished  j  the  crew,  running  up  to  the 
tops  and  out  on  the  yards,  loosed  the  sails,  which  opened 
to  the  breeze  like  the  wings  of  a  sea-bird  about  to  take 
flight;  but  held  in  by  the  sheets  and  tacks,  they  bellied 
out,  swelled,  and  imparting  their  own  impulsion  to  the 
"  Lovely  Jenny,"  made  her  gracefully  heel  over. 

Macgill,  standing  by  the  panel  lighted  by  a  trembling 
light,  held  the  wheel,  steering  the  "Lovely  Jenny," 

151 


THE  QUARTETTE 


which  was  as  sensitive  as  a  horse  with  a  tender  mouth 
is  to  the  action  of  the  bit  and  bridle ;  he  shook  her  up 
or  eased  her  away,  avoiding  the  ships  and  boats  which 
the  approach  of  daylight  called  from  their  torpor,  and 
which  were  tacking  and  cross-tacking  in  every  direction 
on  the  broad  estuary. 

The  morning  began  to  show  :  lines  of  faint  light 
rayed  the  thick  banks  of  clouds ;  the  red  lanterns  of 
the  lightships  were  turning  paler  in  the  blaze  of  nas- 
cent day ;  the  banks  of  the  stream,  scarcely  visible, 
were  vanishing  on  the  horizon,  and  the  yellow  waters 
rose  and  fell  in  broader  seas.  One  felt  the  nearness 
of  the  open,  and  the  "  Lovely  Jenny,"  cradled  by  the 
roll,  pitched  and  scended  in  a  smother  of  foam. 

Benedict,  half  asleep,  was  leaning  upon  his  horsehair 
pillow  when  the  creaking  of  the  door  quickly  awakened 
him ;  the  panel  slipped  along  its  grooves,  and  the  man 
with  the  black  mantle  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the 
cabin. 

The  room  was  dark  and  Benedict  was  unable  to  make 
out  at  once  the  features  of  the  man  who  broke  upon 
his  solitude ;  the  shade  of  the  broad-brimmed  hat  stil' 
concealed  his  face,  and  the  folds  of  the  mantle  his  figure. 

The  new-comer's  intention  was  not  to  maintain  his 

152 


4j  4,  ,1,  4,  4,  4,  4,  4,  4,  ^,  ^  ^  ^  ^  4— I;  4.  4;  4^  4;  4;  4.  4*  4. 

THE  QUARTETTE 

incognito  longer,  for  he  advanced  under  the  small  lamp 
that  was  burning,  threw  back  his  mantle,  took  off  his 
hat,  and  revealed  to  the  surprised  glance  of  Arundel 
the  face  of  Sir  Arthur  Sidney.  Arundel  could  not  keep 
back  a  cry  of  surprise.  Sir  Arthur  Sidney  remained 
perfectly  calm,  opposite  his  friend,  as  if  nothing  ex- 
traordinary had  happened ;  the  light  of  the  lamp, 
playing  upon  his  satiny  brow,  formed  a  sort  of  halo 
around  his  head  ;  his  glance  was  calm,  and  his  features 
expressed  perfect  serenity. 

"  What,  is  it  you,  Arthur  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  returned  from  India  this  morning." 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Arthur  ?  "  cried  Benedict, 
convinced  at  last  of  Sidney's  identity. 

"  It  means,"  quietly  replied  Sidney,  "  that  I  had  not 
consented  to  your  marriage,  and  I  had  to  stop  it;  I 
must  ask  you  to  forgive  the  means  I  had  to  employ  — 
I  had  no  others,  and  so  used  these." 

"  That  is  very  strange  conduct  of  yours,"  replied 
Benedict,  somewhat  disconcerted  by  the  calm  sim- 
plicity of  the  answer.  "  Are  you  my  father,  my  uncle, 
or  my  guardian,  to  assume  such  rights  over  me  ? " 

"  I  am  more  than  that ;  I  am  your  friend,"  replied 
Sidney,  gravely. 

iS3 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  It  is  a  curious  way  to  prove  it,  to  destroy  the  hap- 
piness of  my  life  and  plunge  me  into  the  most  dreadful 
despair." 

"  Your  grief  will  pass  away,"  said  Arthur,  "  lovers' 
pains  do  not  last  long ;  the  wind  carries  them  away 
like  sea-gulls'  feathers  at  sea.  Besides,  you  do  not 
belong  to  yourself,"  he  continued,  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  paper  which  he  unfolded  and  presented  to 
Benedict. 

The  paper,  already  yellowed  by  time,  seemed  to  have 
been  written  long  since ;  the  folds  were  worn,  the  ink 
had  no  doubt  changed  colour;  the  writing  was  reddish, 
as  if  blood  had  been  used  instead  of  ink. 

At  the  sight  of  this  cabalistic-looking  paper,  which 
was  not  unlike  a  pact  with  the  devil,  Sir  Benedict 
Arundel  seemed  embarrassed  and  kept  silence. 

"  Is  that  your  signature  ?  "  said  Sidney,  holding  the 
paper  to  Benedict's  eyes. 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  name,"  replied  Sir  Benedict,  in  a 
resigned  tone. 

"  Did  you  freely  put  your  name  there  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  was  forced,"  answered  Arundel. 
"  Yes,  I  did  write  my  name  there,  when  I  was  full  of 
enthusiasm  and  faith." 


154 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  The  oath  contained  in  this  letter  is  a  dread  one. 
You  swore  by  whatever  can  bind  a  man  on  the  earth 
on  which  we  live,  by  the  God  who  created  the  worlds, 
by  the  demon  who  seeks  to  destroy  them,  by  Heaven 
and  Hell,  by  your  father's  honour  and  your  mother's 
virtue,  by  your  blood  as  a  gentleman,  by  your  soul  as 
a  Christian,  by  your  word  as  a  free  man,  by  the 
memory  of  heroes  and  saints,  on  the  Gospels  and  on 
the  sword ;  and  in  case  our  religion  should  be  but  a  mis- 
take, you  swore  by  fire  and  water,  the  sources  of  life, 
by  the  secret  forces  of  nature,  by  the  stars,  the  mysteri- 
ous regulators  of  Fate,  by  Chronos  and  Jupiter,  by 
Acheron  and  by  Styx,  which  formerly  bound  the  gods. 
If  there  be  on  earth  a  more  irrevocable  formula,  I  do 
not  know  of  it ;  but  when  you  wrote  those  lines  you 
sought  everything  most  dread  and  sacred,  to  give  force 
to  the  oath  contained  in  this  paper." 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  Arundel. 

"  I  needed  you,"  continued  Sidney,  "  and  in  virtue 
of  the  rights  which  this  paper  confers  upon  me,  I  came 
to  fetch  you,  since  you  did  not  come." 

Benedict,  as  if  cast  down,  bent  his  head  and  made 
no  answer. 

"  When  you  are  calmer,"  continued  Sidney,  "  I 


T55 


THE  QUARTETTE 

shall  tell  you  what  I  expect  of  you,  and  what  you  will 
have  to  do."  Whereupon  he  withdrew,  closing  be- 
hind him  the  sliding  panel ;  and  the  "  Lovely  Jenny," 
driven  by  a  strong  wind,  made  her  way  into  the  open 
sea. 


SO 


iidb&'&i:  4:  4:4: 4:4:  4:4:4:4:4:  4:  tfctfctfctlrtS?:!:  4:4b 


THE  QUARTETTE 
4:4:4:4:4: 4: 4:4: 4: 4: 4: 4:4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4:4:4b 


XI 

I SHALL  profit  by  the  fact  that  the  "  Lovely 
Jenny"  is  reeling  ofF  her  ten  knots  an  hour,  with 
a  good  breeze,  to  go  back  some  distance  in  my 
story.  I  have  to  explain  how  Miss  Edith  happened  to 
be  in  the  Thames  on  that  stormy  night,  about  to  be 
swallowed  up  in  the  waters,  instead  of  being  in  her 
scented  bridal  chamber. 

No  doubt  my  readers  will  remember  that  a  meanly 
dressed  man  had  handed  Count  de  Volmerange  a  sealed 
letter,  as  he  left  the  church.  That  letter  the  Count, 
his  mind  full  of  other  matters,  had  left  in  his  pocket 
without  opening  it,  thinking  he  would  read  it  later ; 
but  he  had  forgotten  to  do  so  amid  the  emotions  of  the 
day.  In  the  evening,  however,  having  been  left  alone 
for  a  moment,  he  felt  the  paper  crackling  in  his  pocket, 
and  mechanically  opened  and  read  it. 

At  that  very  moment  he  was  informed  that  Edith 
was  waiting  for  him.  He  arose,  straight  and  stiff  like 
the  statue  of  the  Commander  when  invited  by  Lepo- 


57 


THE  QUARTETTE 

rello  to  sup  with  Don  Juan.  In  his  hand  he  clutched 
the  fatal  paper.  A  deadly  pallor  overspread  his  face, 
in  which  his  dark  blue  eyes  showed  bloodshot.  His 
feet  struck  the  floor  heavily,  as  if  they  were  of  marble. 
Borne  down  by  the  weight  of  crushing  misfortune,  he 
stepped  heavily  like  the  marble  apparition. 

Edith,  protected  by  the  transparent  shade  of  the  cur- 
tains, half  concealed  her  face  in  the  lace-trimmed  pil- 
low ;  her  bloodless  cheeks  were  so  white  they  could 
scarcely  be  distinguished  from  the  cambric  on  which 
they  rested. 

She  was  a  prey  to  terrible  perplexity ;  she  was  agi- 
tated by  the  knowledge  of  her  fault,  and  knew 
not  what  to  resolve.  Time  and  again  she  had  en- 
deavoured to  make  a  confession,  and  yet  had  been 
unable  to  begin ;  nothing  seemed  to  lead  up  to  so 
strange  a  confidence.  That  most  improbable  liaison,  the 
result  of  almost  supernatural  fascination,  had  remained 
absolutely  unsuspected  by  all.  Everybody  around 
Edith  had  such  complete  faith  in  her  purity,  that  she 
herself  at  times  wondered  whether  she  had  lost  it. 
There  was  no  opening  for  such  a  confidence.  Her 
blushes,  her  pallor,  her  silence,  were  mistaken  for  the 
maidenlv  emotions  which  young  girls  experience  as 

158 


*H>*  »4»  »4«  J/»  ri*  »4r»        tl?  4?       tl?  tl?       rA,  r£-«  .A.  r'f»  eft  ri»  >|»*f» 

THE  QUARTETTE 

the  marriage  day  approaches.  Even  legitimate  love  has 
its  troubles,  and  tears  are  the  order  of  the  day  in  the 
eyes  of  young  brides. 

Every  morning  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  must  speak," 
but  the  day  would  pass  without  her  having  spoken. 
The  preparations  for  the  wedding  went  on  without  her 
venturing  to  stay  them,  and  the  revelation  became 
more  and  more  impossible.  She  loved  Volmerange, 
and  although  she  was  a  girl  of  perfectly  truthful 
character,  to  whom  the  very  shadow  of  deceit  was 
repugnant,  she  had  not  the  strength  to  destroy  her  own 
happiness.  She  had  felt  cowardly  at  the  thought  of 
such  a  misfortune,  and  like  all  people  who  reckon  on 
some  impossible  event  to  free  them  from  a  desperate 
situation,  she  had  allowed  matters  to  take  their  course  ; 
now  the  terrible  moment  had  arrived,  and  like  a  dove 
crouching  on  the  ground  as  she  hears  around  her  the 
swooping  of  the  hawk,  she  was  waiting  and  trembling 
with  anxiety  and  terror.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  it 
would  have  been  best  to  refuse  Volmerange,  and  not  to 
accept  the  happiness  of  which  she  was  no  longer 
worthy.    Now,  however,  it  was  too  late. 

It  should  be  said  in  Edith's  favour,  that  she  was 
guilty,  but  not  degraded  ;  hers  was  one  of  those  natures 


*59 


THE  QUARTETTE 

which  evil  can  touch  but  cannot  penetrate,  like  marble, 
which  mud  soils,  but  does  not  stain,  and  which  the  rain 
of  heaven  makes  purer  and  whiter  than  before.  Her 
fall  was  due  to  the  noblest  motives.  Xavier  had  played 
to  Edith  a  comedy  of  misfortune;  he  had  represented 
himself  as  an  oppressed,  misunderstood  man,  compelled 
to  remain  within  his  humble  sphere  by  the  invincible 
prejudices  of  aristocracy  ;  and  he  had  contended  that 
Lord  Harley's  daughter  could  love  but  a  lord,  a  fashion- 
able man  with  a  large  fortune.  These  things,  said  very 
quietly,  with  an  air  of  coldness  and  resignation,  but 
with  eyes  that  burned  with  suppressed  passion,  had 
impelled  Edith's  noble  and  chivalrous  nature  to  a  mad 
devotion  and  consolation. 

She  thought  she  should  play  the  part  of  Providence 
to  that  exiled  angel,  who  was  but  a  fiend ;  so  she  had 
given  herself  to  him,  mistaking  pity  for  love.  Vol- 
merange's  genuine  passion  had  soon  made  her  feel  how 
greatly  she  had  been  mistaken;  and  besides,  Xavier, 
having  once  triumphed  over  her,  had  speedily  unmasked 
himself,  and  far  from  opposing,  as  would  have  seemed 
natural,  the  marriage  of  Edith  and  Volmerange,  he  had 
in  a  way  insisted  upon  it,  in  the  pursuit  of  a  dark  and 
sinister  purpose,  impossible  to  fathom.     Besides,  Vol- 

160 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

merange  was  so  madly  in  love  with  Edith  that  her  con- 
fession might  have  upset  his  reason.  Up  to  a  certain 
point,  Edith  might  still  think  herself  worthy  of  being 
loved  by  an  honourable  man,  and  her  silence  was  not 
perfidious. 

When  Volmerange  entered,  Edith  understood  she 
was  lost.  The  Count  drew  near  the  bed,  and  slowly 
and  automatically  held  out  the  paper  to  the  terrified 
girl,  who  huddled  up  under  the  blankets  with  a  gesture 
of  instinctive  fear. 

"  Tell  me,"  cried  the  Count,  in  a  choking  voice, 
with  a  sort  of  strident  rattle,  "  tell  me  that  the  state- 
ments in  this  letter  are  false,  and  I  shall  believe  you, 
even  though  the  light  should  blind  me." 

Poor  Edith,  half-crazed  by  terror,  sat  up,  and  with 
haggard  eye,  trembling  lips,  pallid  cheeks,  as  if  she 
beheld  the  Medusa  head,  looked  with  the  dull,  lack- 
lustre glance  of  dementia  at  the  paper  on  which  flamed 
her  condemnation.  Her  sudden  gesture  had  broken 
the  ribbon  that  held  her  hair,  and  her  black  curls 
flowed  over  her  shoulders  and  bosom,  —  contrasting 
strongly  with  their  pallid  whiteness.  Desdemona  her- 
self did  not  start  more  terrified  or  more  pale  at  the 
sinister  question  of  the  Moor  of  Venice;  and  though 

7t  Tbi  ~ 


THE  QUARTETTE 

v'olmerange  was  not  black  as  a  Moor,  he  nevertheless 
had  a  fierce  and  terrible  air. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  full  of  expectation, 
anguish,  and  terror. 

Outside,  the  tempest  raged  ;  showers  of  rain  lashed 
the  panes ;  the  wind  seemed  to  press  against  the  win- 
dow as  if  to  enter,  apparently  desiring  to  be  present 
at  this  nocturnal  scene.  The  house,  beaten  by  the 
gale,  trembled  on  its  foundations;  the  doors  creaked; 
confused  plaints  sounded  through  the  corridors ;  the 
lamp  burned  down,  revived  at  times,  and  cast  a  pale 
light,  —  everything  tending  to  increase  the  terror  of 
the  situation. 

The  clock  struck  two.  The  sound,  usually  so  clear 
and  silvery,  now  struck  lugubriously  on  the  ear. 

Volmerange  bent  over  the  bed,  gnashing  his  teeth, 
his  eyes  flashing ;  he  seized  Edith  by  the  arm  with 
imperious  brutality,  and  repeated  his  words  sharply  and 
feverishly.  He  foamed  at  the  mouth,  and  had  bitten 
his  lips  so  hard  during  the  moment  of  silence  that  they 
were  bleeding. 

The  girl,  seeing  so  close  to  her  that  face  whose 
wondrous  beauty  could  not  be  effaced  even  by  the  con- 
traction of  fury,  and  which  recalled  the  lineaments  of 


162 


*4»  J^*  «JU         JL  rlt  *J-%  rJU  *A*  *X»  «§*       (4*  »4»  »4j  »4»  eA-.  »!-«  rl*  r|*  tjU  *i*  «A*  »|« 

THE  QUARTETTE 

an  angered  archangel,  —  felt  her  strength  give  way  ; 
the  fear  of  swooning  came  upon  her,  and  she  would 
have  lost  consciousness  if  a  violent  shock  had  not 
recalled  her  to  herself.  She  felt  as  if  her  arm  had  been 
pulled  away  from  her  shoulder.  Volmerange  had 
dragged  her  from  the  bed  ;  she  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.    Another  shock  made  her  fall  on  her  knees. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Volmerange  ;  "you  shall  die!  "  and 
he  stormed  around  the  room  like  a  madman,  looking 
for  a  weapon  with  which  to  carry  out  his  threat. 

"  Oh,  do  not  harm  me,"  murmured  Edith,  in  a  voice 
full  of  anguish. 

Volmerange  was  still  searching ;  a  bridal  chamber  is 
not  usually  provided  with  daggers,  pistols,  tomahawks, 
or  other  lethal  weapons. 

"  Blood  and  thunder  !  "  cursed  he  as  he  raged  around 
like  a  wild  beast,  "  shall  I  be  obliged  to  smash  her 
head  against  the  furniture,  to  strangle  her  with  my 
hands,  to  tear  her  veins  open  with  my  nails,  or  to  stifle 
her  under  the  mattress  of  my  wedding  couch  ?  Ha ! 
ha !  that  would  be  beautiful,"  he  continued  with  a 
maniacal  laugh.  "A  pretty  scene,  most  dramatic  and 
most  Shakespearean,  in  truth  !  " 

He  drew  near  Edith,  who  was  still  kneeling,  her 

163 


THE  QUARTETTE 

arms  limp,  her  hands  open,  her  head  bowed  upon  her 
breast,  her  hair  hanging  down,— -in  the  attitude  of 
Canova's  Magdalen.  As  she  saw  the  madman  ap- 
proach her,  the  poor  child,  moved  by  a  supreme  instinct 
of  self-preservation,  rose  as  if  pushed  by  a  spring,  ran 
to  the  French  window,  which  opened  on  the  garden, 
threw  it  open  with  the  unconscious  skill  of  somnabu- 
lists  and  people  in  a  desperate  position,  and  sprang, 
borne  along  by  fear,  into  the  dark  walks  of  the  garden, 
followed  by  Volmerange. 

She  did  not  feel  the  gravel  and  shells  hurting  her 
delicate  bare  feet ;  the  rain-laden  branches  swept  her  face 
and  her  bare  shoulders,  and  seemed  to  try  to  hold  her  back 
by  the  folds  of  her  wrapper.  The  burning  breath  of 
Volmerange  almost  reached  her  neck,  and  several  times 
the  madman's  desperate  hands  had  almost  grasped  her. 

She  thus  reached  the  parapet  of  the  terrace,  which 
she  leapt  over,  leaving  on  the  iron  spikes  a  fragment 
of  muslin  —  the  only  trace  left  on  which  Lord  and 
Lady  Harley  could  build  conjectures.  Her  husband 
reached  the  street  almost  as  soon  as  she  did,  and  the 
pursuit  continued. 

Poor  Edith's  strength  was  beginning  to  give  way ; 
her  knees  knocked  against  each  other ;    the  blood 


164 


•£*       ».ti        #JU         •J>»  rii  #A«  »A»  #i»  »A»  JU  eta       *b  eta  »ta  eta  eta  eta  eta  eta  ^1* 

THE  QUARTETTE 

surged  in  her  temples ;  her  breath  came  short  and  quick. 
She  had  already  traversed,  poor  hunted  doe,  one  or  two 
streets,  deserted  on  account  of  the  advanced  hour 
and  the  storm ;  but  even  if  a  belated  passer-by  had  hap- 
pened to  be  there,  he  would  not  have  helped  her, 
taking  her  for  a  street-walker  escaping  after  a  row  in 
some  nocturnal  orgy,  or  pursued  by  some  one  she 
had  robbed. 

In  the  course  of  her  flight  she  reached  the  Thames, 
and  Blackfriars  Bridge,  and  began  to  cross  it  breath- 
less and  with  slower  steps.  When  she  was  near  the 
centre,  her  breath  and  her  strength  abandoning  her, 
her  feet  bleeding,  her  wrapper  covered  with  mud, 
soaked  by  the  last  showers  of  the  storm,  and  cling- 
ing to  her  burning,  chilled  body,  —  she  stopped  and 
leaned  against  the  parapet,  resolved  no  longer  to  dis- 
pute her  life ;  after  all,  it  was  still  a  happiness  to 
die  by  his  hand,  since  she  could  no  longer  live  for 
him. 

The  Count,  having  come  up  to  her,  seized  her  two 
arms  and  said  to  her :  — 

"  Swear  that  the  contents  of  the  letter  are  false." 

Edith,  who,  after  yielding  to  the  impulse  of  physical 
terror,  had  recovered  all  her  natural  dignity,  replied  :  — 

165 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  The  letter  tells  the  truth ;  I  will  not  save  my  life 
by  a  falsehood." 

Volmerange  raised  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  feather, 
and  swung  her  for  a  moment  beyond  the  parapet  over 
the  black  gulf.  The  invisible  waters  roared  and 
stormed  under  the  arch ;  never  had  a  thicker  night 
overspread  the  Thames. 

"  Sombre  abyss,  keep  forever  the  secret  of  my  dis- 
honour !  "  said  the  Count,  leaning  half  way  over  the 
parapet.    Then  he  opened  his  hands. 

A  plaint  as  soft  as  the  sigh  of  a  stifled  dove  was 
Edith's  last  prayer.  The  wind  uttered  a  long  moan 
of  despair,  and  a  light  white  flake  fell  through  the  thick 
mist  like  a  feather  falling  from  a  swan's  wing,  and 
dropped  into  the  river ;  from  above,  it  was  impossible 
to  hear  the  sound  of  the  fall,  drowned  by  the  murmur 
of  the  water,  the  creaking  of  boats,  the  shrieking  of 
the  gale,  and  the  innumerable  sounds  which  form  the 
lamentation  of  nature  on  a  stormy  night. 

"  Now  for  the  other,"  said  Volmerange,  as  he  re- 
traced his  steps ;  "  I  must  find  him,  were  he  concealed 
in  the  very  lowest  circle  of  hell." 

And  he  plunged  into  the  labyrinth  of  streets,  with  a 
swift,  resolute  step. 

166 


4, 4; 4, 4; 4;  4;  4, 4,  £ 4, 4^4; dbsb:b 

 THE  QUARTETTE  

Carried  away  by  the  rapidity  of  my  narration,  I  did 
not  state  that  a  man,  who  might  have  been  taken  for 
a  shadow,  stood  close  to  the  wall  of  the  Count's 
house.  Was  he  watching  for  himself  or  for  some  one 
else  ?  That  is  what  I  am  not  aware  of.  Was  he  a 
thief,  a  lover,  a  spy,  a  foe,  or  a  friend?  Did  he  foresee 
the  catastrophe  which  was  bound  to  come,  and  did  he 
desire  to  witness  it,  himself  invisible  ?  I  am  not  yet 
in  position  to  answer  these  questions.  All  I  can  say 
is  that  the  nocturnal  prowler  saw  Edith  spring  from 
the  terrace,  Volmerange  pursue  her  and  throw  her  into 
the  Thames,  without  attempting  to  interfere  with 
the  dreadful  affair,  satisfied  with  being  a  silent  spec- 
tator of  it.  When  Volmerange,  having  accomplished 
his  vengeance,  returned  into  the  city,  the  shadow 
followed  him  from  afar,  keeping  step  with  him, 
so  as  to  not  lose  sight  of  him,  and  yet  not  to  be 
noticed. 

His  brain  whirling,  his  heart  filled  with  rage  and 
regrets,  Volmerange  walked  on  to  Regent's  Park, 
where,  overcome  by  fatigue,  grief,  and  despair,  he 
let  himself  fall  on  a  bench  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  in 
a  state  of  complete  prostration.  His  mind  was  a 
blank,  and  his  head  nodded  on   his  shoulders ;  his 


THE  QUARTETTE 

vigorous  figure  was  limp;  he  sank  into  that  dull  stupor 
by  which  nature,  weary  of  suffering,  avoids  moral  or 
physical  torture. 

While  he  dozed,  the  dark  shadow  drew  near  him, 
with  so  light,  furtive  and  cat-like  a  step  that  not  a 
grain  of  sand  moved,  not  a  blade  of  grass  bent.  He 
placed  on  Volmerange's  knees  a  paper  of  curious 
shape,  and  an  envelope  full  of  letters;  then  withdraw- 
ing still  more  softly,  concealed  himself  behind  the 
trees,  from  which  he  could  not  be  distinguished. 

Light  as  had  been  the  touch,  it  woke  Volmerange, 
who  saw  the  paper  and  the  envelope  placed  so  mys- 
teriously on  his  knees,  and  ran  to  the  lamp.  The  en- 
velope contained  letters  from  Edith,  proving  her  guilt ; 
the  paper  bore  these  words  :  — 

"  I  swear  never  to  dispose  of  my  person,  never  to 
bind  myself  in  any  way,  by  marriage  or  otherwise,  and 
to  ever  hold  myself  free  for  the  supreme  junta  ;  I  swear 
it  by  the  God  who  created  the  worlds,  by  the  demon 
who  seeks  to  destroy  them,  by  Heaven  and  Hell,  by 
my  father's  honour  and  my  mother's  virtue,  by  my  blood 
as  a  gentleman,  by  my  soul  as  a  Christian,  by  my  word 
as  a  free  man,  by  the  memory  of  heroes  and  saints,  on 
the  Gospels  and  on  my  sword,  and  in  case  our  religion 


168 


THE  QUARTETTE 


should  be  but  a  mistake,  I  swear  by  fire  and  water,  the 
sources  of  life,  by  the  secret  forces  of  nature,  by  the 
stars,  the  mysterious  regulators  of  Fate,  by  Chronos 
and  Jupiter,  by  Acheron  and  by  Styx,  which  formerly 
bound  the  gods. 

41  Signed  with  my  blood, 

"  VOLMERANGE." 


169 


THE  QUARTETTE 

XII 

AFTER  he  had  read,  the  Count,  maddened  with 
grief  and  rage,  traversed  the  park  in  every 
direction,  seeking  the  mysterious  being  who 
while  he  dozed  had  thrown  on  his  knees  Edith's 
letters  and  the  formula  of  the  pact  which  bound  him 
to  an  unknown  power.  In  vain  he  traversed  the 
walks  and  explored  the  shrubbery ;  he  failed  to  dis- 
cover any  one.  It  is  true  the  night  was  dark,  and 
the  pale  light  of  distant  lamps  alone  guided  him  in  his 
pursuit.  Wearied  by  his  mad  chase,  he  left  the  park 
and  walked  towards  Primrose  Hill. 

The  houses  became  more  scattered,  the  fields  began 
to  invade  the  city,  and  soon  he  found  himself  in  the 
country,  climbing  the  lower  slopes  of  the  hill. 

His  goings  and  comings  had  taken  time,  and  the 
late  November  dawn  was  beginning  to  show  in  the 
heaven,  filled  with  great  clouds  like  huge  bodies  left  on 
the  tempest's  battlefield.  Nothing  could  be  more  un- 
like Homer's  rosy-fingered  dawn  than  this  sinister 
British  sunrise. 


THE  QUARTETTE 


He  let  himself  fall  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  that  shivered 
in  the  sharp  breeze  of  morning,  having  lost  already 
more  than  half  its  leaves,  and  drew  from  his  pocket 
Edith's  lacerated  letters,  which  he  had  put  there  me- 
chanically. While  they  left  him  no  doubt  as  to  his 
own  misfortune,  they  were  written  in  a  constrained 
style ;  passion  expressed  itself  in  them  with  embar- 
rassment ;  it  seemed  as  though  the  girl  had  yielded 
to  involuntary  fascination  rather  than  to  sympathy. 

This  reading  embittered  still  further  Volmerange's 
suffering,  but  read  he  must,  in  order  to  justify  his 
vengeance  to  himself.  After  his  violent  and  terrible 
act  doubts  had  occurred  to  him,  not  as  to  the  certainty 
of  Edith's  guilt,  but  as  to  the  justice  of  the  punish- 
ment. Her  white  form  falling  through  the  darkness 
into  the  black  gulf  of  the  river  constantly  passed 
before  his  eyes,  like  a  visible  remorse ;  he  asked  him- 
self if  he  had  not  gone  far  beyond  his  rights  as  a 
husband  and  a  gentleman  in  inflicting  a  dreadful  death 
upon  a  young  and  lovely  girl  standing  upon  the  threshold 
of  life.  Guilty  as  Edith  certainly  was,  she  had  been  so 
bitterly  punished  that  it  made  her  innocent. 

Any  one  who  that  morning  should  have  told  him  that 
by  night  he  would  be  a  murderer  would  have  appeared 


171 


THE  QUARTETTE 


to  him  a  maniac ;  and  yet  he  had  just  pitilessly  de- 
stroyed a  defenceless  woman,  whom  he  had  sworn 
before  God  and  man  to  protect.  The  terrible  exe- 
cution he  had  carried  out,  although  justified  by  the 
laws  of  honour,  terrified  him  and  appeared  to  him 
in  all  its  dread  gravity.  Besides,  ought  not  his 
vengeance  to  have  been  vented  upon  Edith's  accom- 
plice ?  Carried  away  by  blind  wrath  he  had  deprived 
himself,  by  slaying  the  culprit,  of  all  means  of  ascer- 
taining the  source  of  the  crime.  It  was  the  infamous 
seducer  whose  name  he  ought  to  have  dragged  from 
Edith,  and  whom  he  would  have  delighted  in  tortur- 
ing slowly,  and  with  most  ingenious  barbarity;  for 
swift  death  would  not  have  satisfied  his  thirst  for 
vengeance. 

Then,  recalling  the  bonds  which  connected  him  with 
the  mysterious  association  whose  oath  my  readers  have 
read,  he  grew  wrathy  at  this  setting-up  of  authority 
after  years  of  silence  ;  and,  although  the  oath  had  not 
been  extracted  from  him,  he  felt  his  independence 
revolted  at  this  claim  to  dispose  of  him.  He  had 
sworn,  it  was  true,  but  in  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  to 
serve  with  his  whole  strength  and  mind  a  common  idea, 
but  that  was  no  reason  why  he  should  crush  down  the 


172 


THE  QUARTETTE 


feelings  of  his  heart,  cease  to  be  a  man,  and  become 
a  reed  in  a  hidden  hand. 

He  aeemed  to  note  a  strange  coincidence  between 
Edith's  dishonour  and  this  recalling  of  the  oath  he  had 
taken.  Was  not  the  purpose  to  detach  him,  by  this 
terrible  blow,  from  human  things,  and  to  profit  by  his 
despair  to  launch  him  into  an  impossible  enterprise  ? 

He  recalled  a  remark  once  made  by  one  of  the  influ- 
ential members  of  the  association  :  "  God  put  woman 
on  the  earth  lest  man  should  do  too  great  things."  By 
showing  to  him  the  unworthiness  of  the  woman  he 
loved,  no  doubt  they  had  expected  to  convince  him 
irrevocably  of  the  truth  of  Shakespeare's  maxim  : 
"  Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman,"  and  to  make  him 
renounce  forever  her  treacherous  attraction. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  he  to  himself,  "  whom  can  I  trust 
henceforth,  if  the  face  can  lie  like  the  lips,  if  candour 
deceives,  if  chastity  is  but  a  mask,  if  the  celestial  spark 
is  but  a  reflection  of  hell,  if  the  heart  of  the  rose  is  full 
of  poison,  if  the  virginal  wreath  is  placed  upon  hair  cast 
loose  in  debauch  ?  Edith,  Edith,  I  had  intrusted  to 
you,  fearlessly  and  unsuspectingly,  the  honour  of  my 
ancient  line;  I  believed  you  would  transmit  pure  the 
blood  of  the  old  knights  and  the  royal  blood  of  India 


J73 


THE  QUARTETTE 


which  flows  in  my  veins.  And  yet  she  loved  me,  I  am 
sure  of  it,"  he  exclaimed,  striking  his  knee  violently 
with  his  fist;  "her  sweet  glance  told  the  truth;  her 
voice  had  the  accent  of  real  love ;  there  is  in  all  this 
some  horrible  machination!  On  the  other  hand,  she  did 
not  once  deny  the  accusation  ;  she  did  not  utter  a  single 
word  in  her  own  defence.  She  is  guilty,  guilty,  guilty," 
he  went  on,  continually  repeating  the  word  with  the 
monotonous  insistence  of  people  who  feel  their  ideas 
escape  them,  and  who  cling  to  the  last  syllable  they 
have  uttered,  as  a  saving  bough  clutched  by  their  fast 
disappearing  reason. 

Tears  rolled  silently  and  uninterruptedly  down  his 
cheeks ;  he  did  not  even  think  of  wiping  them  awav, 
and  repeated  with  a  crazed  look,  as  if  it  were  the 
refrain  of  a  ballad,  "  She  is  guilty,  guilty,  guilty  !  " 

Day  had  now  come,  and  from  the  heights  of  Prim- 
rose Hill  the  eye  roamed  over  the  city  of  London, 
which  was  beginning  to  smoke  like  a  boiling  caldron  ; 
it  was  a  grand  and  magnificent  spectacle  :  long  trails 
of  bluish  mists  outlined  the  course  of  the  Thames, 
and  here  and  there  arose  from  out  the  fog  the  pointed 
spires  of  churches,  touched  by  slanting  beams  of  light. 
The  two  towers  of  Westminster  rose  up  almost  directly 


174 


THE  QUARTETTE 


before  him  in  the  dark  mist ;  the  statue  of  the  Duke 
of  York  stood  like  a  little  doll,  upon  its  slender 
column ;  on  the  left  the  Monument  raised  to  heaven 
its  flames  of  gilded  bronze ;  the  Tower,  its  group  of 
dungeons  j  St.  Paul's  showed  its  dome,  flanked  by- 
two  campaniles ;  light  and  shadow  played  over  the 
waves  of  houses,  —  broken  here  and  there  by  islets 
of  parks  or  squares,  —  with  a  grandeur  and  majesty 
worthy  of  the  ocean ;  but  Volmerange,  although  his 
set  glance  seemed  to  contemplate  this  marvellous  pan- 
orama with  the  deepest  attention,  actually  saw  noth- 
ing ;  the  pale  shadow  of  Edith  concealed  the  prospect 
from  him. 

His  anger  was  expended,  and  he  was  in  such  a  state 
of  prostration  that  a  child  could  have  mastered  him  at 
that  moment ;  his  vitality  had  been  wholly  exhausted 
in  that  vast  projection ;  he  had  emptied  himself  into 
his  crime.  He  endeavoured  to  rise,  but  his  knees  sank 
under  him ;  his  eyes  clouded,  his  brow  was  covered 
with  cold  sweat,  and  he  fell  again  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree. 

At  that  moment  there  passed  along  the  road  a  man 
of  honest  mien,  and  simple  but  comfortable  dress ;  one 
with  a  face  such  as  may  be  met  a  thousand  times  with- 


175 


THE  QUARTETTE 

out  its  being  recognised,  so  cleverly  do  such  men  know 
how  to  wear  the  mask  and  domino  of  the  crowd. 

He  approached  Volmerange,  who,  worn  out  by  emo- 
tion and  fatigue,  and  chilled  by  the  night  air,  was 
almost  fainting. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  sir  ?  "  said  the  passer-by,  with 
an  air  of  interest.  "  You  are  very  pale,  and  seem  to 
be  in  pain." 

"  Oh  !  nothing,  a  passing  weakness,"  answered  the 
Count,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  It  is  a  lucky  chance  that  has  brought  me  this  way : 
I  am  a  physician,  and  was  paying  a  visit  to  one  of  my 
patients  on  Primrose  Hill;  I  have  some  restoratives 
here,"  said  the  man,  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  small 
case  like  a  surgeon's  case,  from  which  he  drew  a  vial, 
apparently  containing  salts. 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  feel  very  well,"  murmured  Volme- 
range, as  his  head  fell. 

The  kindly  passer-by  opened  the  vial,  from  which 
arose  a  penetrating  smell,  and  placed  it  under  the 
patient's  nostrils ;  but  whatever  it  contained  did  not 
produce  the  effect  which  might  have  been  expected  : 
instead  of  recovering  from  his  faint,  Volmerange  seemed 
to  swoon  away  more  completely,  and  the  effort  he  had 


176 


THE  QUARTETTE 


made  to  breathe  in  the  exciting  odour  appeared  to  have 
exhausted  the  little  strength  he  had  left. 

The  passer-by  who  had  called  himself  a  physician, 
although  he  saw  that  the  patient's  swoon  was  being 
prolonged,  still  held  to  his  nostrils  the  vial,  which  he 
ought  to  have  drawn  away  when  he  saw  it  did  not 
produce  the  right  effect.  Lethargy  seemed  to  have 
followed  on  syncope.  Volmerange,  his  arms  limp,  his 
body  sunk,  his  head  rolling  from  one  shoulder  to  the 
other,  was  now  merely  an  inert  statue. 

"  A  capital  invention,"  murmured  the  strange  physi- 
cian, very  much" satisfied  with  the  peculiar  result  of  his 
assistance.  "  He  is  now  in  a  suitable  condition  ;  he 
does  not  know  whether  he  is  in  heaven,  on  earth,  or  in 
hell ;  he  can  be  taken  and  carried  off  without  being 
any  more  aware  of  it  than  a  bale  of  goods  or  a  man 
dead  for  a  week.  We  could  take  him  to  China,  as  he 
is  now  ;  but  let  me  see  if  I  can  find  a  carriage  in  which 
to  put  him." 

He  sprang  down  to  the  road  as  if  to  see  at  a  greater 
distance.  Nor  did  he  remain  long  at  his  position  :  a 
hackney  coach,  returning  to  London,  appeared  on  the 
horizon  of  the  road,  with  a  flashing  and  a  thundering 
of  wheels. 


I  2 


I77 


THE  QUARTETTE 

The  supposed  physician  made  a  sign  to  the  coach- 
man ;  the  carriage  was  empty,  and  the  coachman  drew 
up  near  the  bank  on  which  lay  Volmerange. 

Help  me,"  said  the  false  doctor,  "  to  put  this 
gentleman  in  your  carriage ;  he  took  too  much  Spanish 
and  French  wine  at  supper,  and  fell  asleep  under  this 
tree  while  taking  his  morning  walk.  I  know  him  and 
will  take  him  home." 

The  coachman  helped  the  stranger  to  place  Volme- 
range into  the  coach  without  a  word,  for  a  drunken 
gentleman  was  not  so  uncommon  as  to  cause  astonish- 
ment. The  driver  as  he  climbed  back  to  his  box, 
merely  sighed  in  a  melancholy  fashion,  and  said  to 
himself :  "  What  a  lucky  man  that  lord  is,  to  be  drunk 
so  early."  And  thereupon  he  drove  in  the  direction 
indicated  by  the  man,  who  had  pointed  out  a  house 
situated  along  one  of  the  roads  that  succeed  the  streets 
in  the  suburbs  of  London. 

After  a  few  minutes,  the  carriage  stopped  before  a 
wall  in  which  was  a  little  green  door,  with  a  brass 
knob  shining  like  gold.  Trees  almost  leafless,  showing 
over  the  coping  of  the  wall,  denoted  that  a  pretty  large 
garden  separated  the  house  from  the  street. 

The  man  who  had  given  Volmerange  the  cordial 


178 


4*  4*  4, 4,  4,  4,  4,  4  J,  4^4,4,4,4.4.4,4,4,4,4,  4j  :!: 4; 

THE  QUARTETTE 

that  had  stupefied  him,  pulled  the  bell ;  he  rang  several 
times,  leaving  between  each  ring  an  interval  which 
seemed  to  have  a  meaning  settled  upon  beforehand. 

A  servant  opened  ;  the  man  whispered  a  few  words 
to  him ;  the  servant  went  back  into  the  house,  and 
soon  reappeared,  followed  by  two  men  with  olive  com- 
plexions and  queer  faces,  who  took  Volmerange  and 
carried  him  awav  into  a  wing  of  round  shape,  which 
formed,  at  the  corner  of  the  main  building,  one  of  those 
towers  frequently  met  with  in  English  architecture. 

The  coachman,  handsomely  paid,  drove  away  think- 
ing the  matter  quite  natural ;  he  had  driven  back  to 
his  home  more  than  one  nobleman  in  a  state  at  least  as 
peculiar  as  that  of  Volmerange. 

The  man  with  the  vial,  having  finished  his  mission, 
withdrew  at  once,  after  having  written  on  a  square  of 
paper,  which  he  tore  from  his  note-book,  a  few  words 
half  in  cipher,  half  in  characters  in  an  unknown  tongue, 
and  handed  it  to  the  servant  who  had  opened  the  gate. 

The  house  to  which  Volmerange  had  been  brought, 
was  so  elegant  and  rich  as  to  preclude  any  idea  of 
robbery  or  kidnapping.  A  white  and  rose  awning 
shaded  the  white  marble  steps  ;  perfectlv  clear  mirrors, 
placed  above  the  chimney-places,  reflected  huge  China 


179 


THE  QUARTETTE 


vases,  filled  with  flowers  ;  the  glass  roof  and  sides  of 
a  vast  greenhouse,  which  seemed  to  prolong  the  draw- 
ing-room, rose  above  a  regular  virgin  forest ;  Bourbon 
palms,  bamboos,  tulip  trees,  roseapple  trees,  creepers, 
passion  flowers,  shaddocks,  cacti,  bloomed  with  tropical 
exuberance,  bristling  with  darts,  knives,  and  claws, — 
their  calyxes  bursting  like  shells  of  perfume  and  colour, 
and  the  petals  of  their  flowers  palpitating  like  the  wings 
of  Cashmere  butterflies. 

The  two  dark-complexioned  lackeys  placed  the  sleep- 
ing Volmerange  upon  a  sofa  and  withdrew  silently, 
appearing  in  no  wise  surprised  at  the  arrival  of  this 
gentleman,  whom,  no  doubt,  they  then  saw  for  the  first 
time. 

He  had  been  resting  for  some  little  time,  still  under 
the  influence  of  the  narcotic,  and  yet  no  one  appeared. 
The  room  in  which  he  was  laid  presented,  though 
furnished  with  elegance  and  simplicity,  some  peculiar- 
ities that  might  have  assisted  a  careful  observer :  a 
fine  Indian  matting  covered  the  flooring,  and  on  the 
mantel  was  placed  the  figure  of  the  Trimorti,  represent- 
ing Brahma,  Vishnu,  and  Siwa  ;  a  buckler  of  elephant- 
skin,  a  curved  sabre,  a  Malay  creese,  and  two  javelins 
were  arranged  in  a  trophy  upon  the  wall.    These  char- 


THE  QUARTETTE 

acteristic  details,  less  remarkable  in  London  than  any- 
where else,  seemed  to  denote  the  abode  of  a  wealthy 
Calcutta  nabob,  or  of  a  high  official  of  the  Honour- 
able East  India  Company. 

Presently  a  brocade  portiere  was  drawn  aside,  and 
gave  passage  to  a  strange  figure  ;  it  was  a  pale,  old 
man,  somewhat  bent,  who  advanced  leaning  on  a  stick 
as  white  as  ivory.  His  thin,  dry,  mummified  face  was 
the  colour  of  Cordova  leather  or  Havana  tobacco ; 
broad,  dark  rings  circled  his  hollow  eyes,  that  gleamed 
like  those  of  a  wild  beast,  and  the  brilliancy  of  which 
was  in  no  wise  deadened  by  age ;  his  eagle  nose  was 
almost  ossified,  and  the  hardened  cartilage  shone  like 
bone ;  his  hollow  cheeks,  deeply  wrinkled,  clung  to  the 
jaws,  and  his  lips,  shrivelled  by  the  use  of  betel,  had 
turned  his  teeth  the  colour  of  gold.  The  knuckles  of 
the  hands,  almost  like  those  of  an  ourang-outang,  were 
transversely  wrinkled,  like  the  insteps  of  hussars'  boots. 
A  small  reddish  wig  covered  his  tanned  head,  burned 
and  as  it  were  calcined  by  the  sun,  and  within  which 
glowed  fierce  passions  and  the  devouring  fire  of  a  fixed 
thought.  Below  the  wig,  sparkled  two  golden  rings, 
hung  from  the  lobe  of  the  ears,  that  were  like  pieces 
of  old  leather. 

_ 


db  tfc  tjj1  s|j  -4'  'i->    j|»    j^^jf  sfc  jb  sfesbdb  tib  t8?t§?  Jb  sj»  A 
THE  QUARTETTE 

Any  one  seeing  that  yellow,  wrinkled  spectre,  so  dry 
that  his  joints  creaked  as  he  walked,  would  have  taken 
him,  not  for  a  centenarian,  but  for  a  millenarian.  He 
looked  fabulously  old,  and  yet  his  eyes,  the  only  living 
things  in  his  odd  face,  shone  like  those  of  a  youth ;  the 
whole  vigour  of  his  body,  kept  alive  by  a  powerful  will, 
had  concentrated  in  them. 

If  Volmerange  could  have  thrown  off  the  invincible 
torpor  that  overmastered  him  and  kept  him  sunk  in  a 
stupor  of  sleep,  he  would  have  shuddered  on  beholding 
that  strange  being  gliding  towards  him  like  a  phantom  ; 
he  would  have  believed  himself  a  prey  to  nightmare ; 
for  in  spite  of  the  full,  black  coat,  the  breeches  and  the 
silk  stockings,  —  which  a  clergyman  about  to  ascend  the 
pulpit  would  not  have  disavowed,  and  which  constituted 
a  dress  not  entirely  suited  to  an  apparition, —  the  old 
man  seemed  to  have  arrived  direct  from  the  other  world. 

Yet  he  did  not  seem  to  be  inspired  by  any  evil 
feeling,  and  he  drew  near  the  bed  with  an  air  as  plainly 
satisfied  as  his  stuffed  Pharaoh  complexion  and  innu- 
merable wrinkles,  called  out  on  his  antediluvian  face 
by  his  smile,  were  capable  of  assuming. 

He  still  held  in  his  hand  the  paper  on  which  the 
man  who  had  handed  Volmerange  over  to  the  servant 


182 


THE  QUARTETTE 

had  scribbled  a  few  mysterious  signs,  and  the  contents 
were  no  doubt  agreeable  to  him,  for  as  he  read  it  once 
more  before  throwing  it  into  the  fire,  he  murmured  : 
"  The  fellow  is  very  intelligent ;  I  must  remember  to 
reward  his  zeal." 

He  then  sat  down  near  Volmerange,  waiting  for  the 
effects  of  the  narcotic  to  pass  off;  but,  seeing  that  the 
young  Count  did  not  awake,  he  called  for  his  dark 
lackeys  and  had  him  placed  upon  a  bed  in  a  neighbour- 
ing room. 

This  room,  decorated  and  furnished  with  extreme 
magnificence,  recalled  the  fabulous  splendours  of  East- 
ern tales ;  there  was  none  richer  or  more  splendid  in 
any  palace  in  Hyderabad  or  Benares.  Slender  columns 
of  white  marble,  up  which  ran  vine-stalks,  the  leaves 
represented  by  seed  emeralds,  and  the  clusters  by 
garnets,  —  supported  a  ceiling  carved,  wrought,  orna- 
mented, and  divided  into  numerous  compartments  full 
of  flowers,  stars,  and  fantastic  ornaments,  as  thick  as 
a  forest  glade.  On  the  walls  ran  a  carved  frieze  repre- 
senting the  chief  mysteries  of  Indian  theogony,  —  a 
whole  world  of  gods,  with  elephants'  trunks  and  polyps' 
arms,  holding  in  their  hands  lotus-flowers,  sceptres, 
scourges  ;  monsters,  half  man,  half  animal,  with  leafy 


db  &  •k  •k  k  rk  is  is  £  -k  i:  •ki: tb &  &   & sfc ^  db 4:4: 

THE  QUARTETTE 

limbs  twisted  into  arabesques,  mystic  symbols  of  deep 
cosmogonic  thoughts.  In  spite  of  their  hieratic  stiff- 
ness and  the  childish  artlessness  of  the  work,  these 
carvings  had  a  strange,  lifelike  look  ;  the  complica- 
tions and  interlacings  made  them  swarm  before  one's 
eyes,  and  imparted  to  them  a  sort  of  motionless  action. 

Broad  damask  portieres  brocaded  with  gold  fell  in 
heavy  folds  between  the  pillars  ;  a  thick,  soft  multi- 
coloured carpet  of  complicated  design,  the  palm  leaves 
on  which  made  it  resemble  a  cashmere  shawl  woven 
for  a  giantess,  covered  the  floor.  Around  the  room 
ran  a  low  divan,  covered  with  one  of  those  marvellous 
stuffs  on  which  India  seems  to  weave  with  silks  the 
brilliant  tints  of  its  sky  and  its  flowers. 

A  soft,  milky  light,  passing  through  ground  glass, 
illumined  this  Asiatic  magnificence,  and  was  made  stili 
fainter  by  an  imperceptible  cloud  of  bluish  smoke  aris- 
ing from  perfume-burners  in  the  four  corners  of  the 
room,  —  imparting  to  it,  though  it  was  already  surpris- 
ing enough,  a  fairylike  aspect.  Through  this  vaporous 
gauze  the  gold,  the  garnets,  the  crystals,  and  projecting 
carvings  were  strangely  phosphorescent,  and  flashed 
with  sudden  gleams.  A  portion  of  the  bas-relief, 
touched  by  the  light,  seemed  to  leave  the  pillar,  to  turn 

184 


vlb db 4?  tic  a  dbtl?  tbd?tlbt§?:s?ts;tfc$r?tl: s?? s(b 

THE  QUARTETTE 

on  itself,  and  to  twist  into  a  spiral.  Either  the  aroma 
of  the  exotic  flowers  springing  from  great  vases  had 
an  intoxicating  effect,  or  the  perfume-burners  contained 
some  of  those  inebriating  preparations  of  which  India 
has  the  secret,  and  which  it  is  accustomed  to  use,  for 
in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  everything  assumed  in 
this  hall,  that  resembled  a  pagoda,  the  vague  and 
changing  appearance  of  objects  seen  in  dreams. 

The  strange  personage  whose  appearance  I  have 
sketched  reappeared  after  a  short  absence,  but  he  had 
thrown  off*  his  black  European  clothes;  a  turban,  artist- 
ically rolled,  had  replaced  the  red  wig  on  his  shaven 
skull ;  two  white  lines,  drawn  with  consecrated  powder, 
rayed  his  tawny  brow  ;  a  ring  of  brilliants  sparkled  in 
his  nose  ;  a  muslin  robe  fell  from  his  shoulders  to  his 
feet  in  straight  folds,  unbroken  by  the  body  they 
covered,  so  thin  was  the  old  man.  His  copper 
face,  showing  between  the  great  turban  and  the  long 
white  dress,  produced  a  strange  contrast ;  the  two 
white  lines  had  restored  to  the  dark  features  their 
Indian  sombreness.  He  looked  like  a  devotee  emerg- 
ing from  the  caves  of  Elephanta,  or  the  pagoda  of 
Juggernaut,  for  the  function  of  the  car  with  the  bloody 
wheels. 


185 


THE  QUARTETTE 

He  stood  by  the  bed  waiting  until  the  Count,  having 
got  rid  of  the  narcotic,  should  wake  from  his  slumbers. 

Volmerange  had  already  tried  to  open  his  eyes,  and 
through  his  half-openlids  had  faintly  caught  sight  of  the 
tall  pillars,  the  lofty  ceiling  of  the  hall,  and  the  old 
Hindoo  standing  by  him  like  a  phantom,  gazing  upon 
him  with  the  fixed  glance  of  a  figure  in  a  dream  ;  but 
Volmerange  did  not  believe  that  what  he  saw  was  a 
reality  ;  he  still  fancied  himself  wandering  through  the 
chimerical  countries  of  sleep.  To  have  fainted  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree  on  Primrose  Hill,  and  to  recover  one's 
senses  upon  a  Cashmere  divan  in  a  hall  of  Aureng 
Zeb's  palace,  in  the  very  depths  of  India,  nine  thousand 
miles  from  the  place  where  one  lost  consciousness,  is 
enough  to  astonish  a  brain  less  shaken  than  was  Vol- 
merange's.  So  he  remained  motionless,  not  knowing 
whether  he  was  awake  or  asleep,  and  seeking  to  re- 
cover the  broken  thread  of  his  thoughts.  At  last, 
making  up  his  mind  to  open  his  eyes  fully,  he  cast 
around  him  a  look  of  astonishment,  and  could  not  this 
time  refuse  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  what  he 
beheld. 

The  place  in  which  he  found  himself,  though  very 
fanciful,  had  nothing  of  the  architecture  of  dreams:  it 

186 


THE  QUARTETTE 

was  the  hand  of  man,  and  not  that  of  the  spirits  which 
fill  sleep  with  impalpable  wonders,  that  had  fluted  the 
columns,  painted  the  ceiling,  carved  the  bassi-relievi  ; 
he  was  not  resting  on  a  bank  of  clouds,  but  upon  an 
unmistakable  bed.  He  could  see  a  huge  China  peony, 
with  its  scarlet  bloom,  in  a  vase  of  Japanese  porcelain  ; 
the  perfume  tickled  his  olfactory  nerves  with  genuine 
aroma.  The  face  of  the  Hindoo,  though  worthy  of  a 
nocturnal  fancy,  presented  shadows  and  lights  that 
were  quite  appreciable,  and  the  modelling  was  positive. 
There  was  no  further  reason  for  doubt. 

Raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  Volmerange  put  to 
the  tall,  white  phantom  the  inevitable  question  in  such 
cases,  and  said,  like  the  hero  of  a  tragedy  who  has 
recovered  from  his  bewilderment :  — 

"Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  In  a  place  in  which  you  are  most  welcome,"  re- 
plied the  Hindoo,  bowing  respectfully. 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  bells  was  heard  behind 
the  curtain,  the  rings  slid  over  the  bars,  and  a  third 
person  entered  the  room. 


187 


THE  QUARTETTE 
.i*  •£*  «i«  "I*  «4j  4j  4^  ^  4^  4£^4»4j»4»4;  db  tt?tfcdbd?cfw  rlr  tlbtl? 


XIII 

A YOUNG  girl  of  incredible  beauty,  wearing  a 
rich  Indian  costume,  appeared  in  the  room,  — 
appeared  is  the  word,  for  she  would  have  been 
taken  for  an  Apsara,  come  down  from  Indra's  courr, 
rather  than  tor  a  mere  mortal. 

Her  complexion  —  a  singular  one  according  to 
European  ideas  —  had  the  brilliancy  of  gold;  its  amber 
tint,  like  that  which  time  has  given  to  the  flesh  tints 
in  pictures  by  Titian,  did  not  prevent,  however,  a  rosy 
bloom  flushing  the  maiden's  cheeks.  Her  almond- 
shaped  eyes,  surmounted  by  such  clean  brows  that  tney 
seemed  drawn  with  Indian  ink,  lengthened  towards 
the  temples,  and  were  made  longer  still  by  a  line  of 
surmeh.  The  eyelids  were  fringed  with  blue  lashes; 
the  pupils  shone  with  velvet  brilliancy,  and  looked  like 
two  black  stars  on  a  silver  sky.  The  nose,  thin  and 
delicately  formed,  with  rosy  nostrils,  was  slightly  tat- 
tooed at  the  root,  with  tincture  of  gorothchana ;  and 
from  the  nostrils   hung  a  golden  ring,  studded  with 


188 


&&&&&&  &i?£:&&&&dkd:£:ik&£:&£iik&& 

THE  QUARTETTE 

diamonds,  through  the  circle  of  which  shone  purest 
pearls  set  in  a  smile  as  golden  as  the  fruit  of  the  jujube 
tree.  The  diamonds  and  pearls,  mingling  their  gleams, 
imparted  to  the  somewhat  dull  complexion  a  light 
which  it  otherwise  might  have  lacked.  The  smooth 
cheeks,  as  unctuous  as  ivory,  ran  into  the  chin  in  lines 
of  ideal  purity.  King  Douchmonta  himself,  the 
Indian  Raphael,  could  not  have  reproduced  with  his 
graceful  brush  all  the  delicacy  of  these  contours. 
Behind  the  ears,  which  were  small  and  bordered  with  a 
pearly  line,  like  a  Ceylon  shell,  the  silky,  scented  bloom 
of  a  branch  of  siricah,  fastened  to  a  filigree  knot,  fell 
gracefully  over  the  delicate  cheek  of  the  maiden.  Her 
hair,  the  parting  of  which  was  marked  by  a  line  of  car- 
mine, was  divided  into  bands,  joined  on  her  neck  in 
tresses  bound  with  gold  thread,  and  covered  with  plates 
of  jewels  that  stood  out  against  its  dark-blue  colour. 
Her  breasts,  bound  in  bv  a  narrow  vest  of  crimson 
silk,  so  covered  with  ornaments  that  the  stuff  almost 
disappeared,  were  separated  bv  a  knot  formed  of  fila- 
ments of  lotus,  that  shone  like  silver  threads  or  woven 
moonbeams.  Her  lovely  arms,  round  and  flexible  as 
creepers,  were  clasped  near  the  shoulders  by  bracelets 
in  the  form  of  serpents,  like  those  of  the  god  Maha- 


189 


S?:s  *Jb  £  is  &  &  -k  ±  &  £  ^rsbtfcsbtlrtirtf::*::!::*:  ^  dbdb 
THE  QUARTETTE 

dava,  and  the  wrists  by  quintuple  ropes  of  pearls. 
The  palms  of  her  hands,  small  as  a  child's,  were  dyed 
red,  and  diamond  rings  shone  on  every  finger.  A 
golden  girdle  studded  with  amethysts  and  garnets, 
bound  her  supple  waist,  —  bare  from  the  corset  to  the 
hip,  according  to  Oriental  fashion,  —  and  held  in  the 
folds  of  trousers  of  striped  stuff,  which,  fastened  at  the 
ankles,  showed,  emerging  from  a  mass  of  pearly  anklets 
and  gilded  circlets  adorned  with  little  bells,  two  pretty 
little  feet  with  polished  heels  and  toes  laden  with  rings 
and  dyed  red  with  henna  like  the  cheeks  of  a  virgin 
blushing  with  shame.  A  scarf,  with  as  many  colours 
as  the  rainbow,  or  the  tail  of  the  peacock  on  which 
rides  Saravasti,  and  the  two  ends  of  which  were  drawn 
under  her  golden  belt,  played  caressingly  around  her 
undulating  body,  slender  as  the  stalk  of  a  palm.  On 
her  bosom  streamed,  with  metallic  rustlings,  a  cascade 
of  necklaces  of  pearls  of  all  colours,  of  shimmering 
necklets  of  golden  balls,  and  lotus  flowers  strung  in 
chaplets,  —  in  a  word,  all  that  Hindoo  coquetry  can 
invent  in  the  way  of  splendour  and  beauty  ;  mysterious 
marks,  made  with  sandal  powder,  showed  faintly  on 
the  lower  portion  of  her  neck  amid  this  phosphorescent 
brilliancy;  and  in  order  that  the  costumes  should  lack 


190 


THE  QUARTETTE 


not  the  least  trace  of  local  colour,  the  maiden  breathed 
a  faint  and  delightful  perfume  of  ousire. 

Neither  Parvati,  the  spouse  of  Mahadava,  nor  Mis- 
rakesi,  nor  Menaca,  equalled  in  beauty  the  young  Hin- 
doo maid  who  advanced  towards  Volmerange,  petrified 
with  surprise,  —  her  necklets,  her  bracelets,  and  the 
bells  of  her  anklets  rustling  as  she  walked. 

The  mysterious  poetry  of  India  seemed  to  be  in- 
corporated in  that  lovely  girl,  brilliant  and  sombre, 
delicate  and  wild,  splendid  and  nude,  appealing  to  every 
thought  and  to  every  sense,  —  to  thought  by  her  sym- 
bolical tattooing  and  ornaments,  to  the  senses  by  her 
beauty,  her  radiance,  and  her  perfume  ;  gold,  diamonds, 
pearls  and  flowers  turned  her  into  a  focus  of  beams  the 
brightest  of  which  were  those  that  flashed  from  her 
eyes. 

She  came  thus  to  the  divan  with  soft  undulations, 
full  of  chaste  voluptuousness,  pressing  on  her  heels 
like  Sacountala  on  the  sand  of  the  flowery  path  ;  and 
when  she  had  come  opposite  to  Volmerange,  she  knelt 
and  remained  in  the  same  attitude  of  respectful  con- 
templation as  Lakmi  admiring  Vishnu  lying  on  his 
lotus  leaf,  and  floating  on  the  infinite,  under  the 
shadow  of  his  serpent  dais. 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Although  Volmerange  had  every  reason  to  believe 
he  was  awake,  he  must  have  thought  himself  the  play- 
thing of  some  prodigious  hallucination  ;  there  was  so 
little  connection  between  the  events  of  the  past  night 
and  what  he  now  beheld  that  he  might  well  have 
believed  his  brain  was  turned;  yet  nothing  could  be 
more  real  than  the  lovely  being  kneeling  before 
him. 

The  scene  deeply  impressed  him  :  his  mother  was  a 
Hindoo,  who  belonged  to  one  of  the  royal  races  dis- 
possessed by  the  English  conquest ;  the  Asiatic  blood 
which  flowed  in  his  veins,  mingling  with  the  colder 
blood  of  the  North,  seemed  at  this  moment  to  run 
more  rapidly,  and  to  carry  away  with  it  the  European 
portion.  The  remembrances  of  his  childhood  came 
crowding  back,  and  he  saw  as  in  a  mirage  rising  on  the 
horizon,  the  snow  crests  of  the  Himalayas,  the  swelling 
domes  of  the  pagodas,  the  orange  bloom  of  the  asoca, 
and  the  loving  couples  of  swans  floating  on  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Malini.  The  whole  poetry  of  the  past 
revived  in  that  retrospective  revelation.  The  architec- 
ture of  the  room,  the  perfume  of  the  madhavi,  the  old 
Hindoo's  dress,  the  dazzling  radiance  of  the  maiden, 
awoke  in  him  forgotten  remembrances ;  the  very  face 


192 


k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  k  kk  k  k  k  k  k  k  k k  k :)b 

THE  QUARTETTE 

of  the  lovely  creature,  prostrate  before  him  in  an  atti- 
tude of  amorous  adoration,  was  not  wholly  new, 
although  he  was  sure  he  saw  her  for  the  first  time. 
Yet  where  had  they  met  ?  In  the  world  of  dreams,  or 
in  some  anterior  incarnation  ?  He  could  not  tell ;  yet 
a  confused  swarm  of  thoughts  buzzed  around  his  head, 
and  he  seemed  to  have  lived  a  long  time  with  her 
whom  he  had  seen  but  for  a  few  minutes. 

The  old,  yellow-faced,  white-robed  phantom  seemed 
to  have  reckoned  on  this  effect ;  with  strange  persist- 
ency he  fixed  his  flashing  glance  on  Volmerange,  as  if 
to  read  his  inmost  thoughts. 

Apparently  the  Count  did  not  manifest  his  emotions 
strongly  enough  to  satisfy  Daksha,  —  for  thus  was  the 
Hindoo  called,  —  for  he  signed  to  the  maiden  to  speak. 

"  My  dear  lord,"  said  she,  in  Hindoostani  speech, 
full  of  vowels  and  sweet  as  music,  "  have  you  forgot- 
ten Priyamvada  ?  " 

The  sounds  of  the  tongue  he  had  spoken  in  India  in 
his  childhood,  but  which  he  had  neglected  since  he  lived 
in  Europe,  first  sounded  on  his  ears  merely  as  a  melo- 
dious, murmuring  rhythm,  and  it  took  him  some  time  to 
make  out  the  meaning ;  he  had  understood  the  air  be- 
fore he  grasped  the  words. 


*93 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  Priyamvada  ?  "  he  said  slowly,  and  as  if  talcing 
time  to  recollect,  —  "  Priyamvada,  she  whose  speech  is 
sweet  as  honey  ?  No,  I  do  not  remember  her,  and  yet 
it  seems  to  me —  why,  yes,  I  knew  a  child,  a  little 
girl-" 

"  The  lapse  of  ten  years  has  changed  into  a  young 
girl  the  child  born  to  your  mother's  sister." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  you,  then,  to  whom  I  used  to  give,  for 
playthings,  little  ivory  elephants,  tigers  carved  of 
wood,  and  peacocks  of  burned  clay,  painted  with  many 
colours.  Priyamvada,  my  cousin  with  the  golden 
complexion,  I  had  somewhat  forgotten  our  barbaric 
relationship." 

"  I  had  not  forgotten  it,  and  I  honour  in  you  the  last 
line  of  kings  whose  ancestors  were  gods,  and  who  were 
seated  on  the  clouds  before  they  were  seated  on 
thrones." 

"  Although  your  father  was  European,"  added  Dak- 
sha,  "a  single  drop  of  that  divine  blood  transmitted  by 
your  mother  makes  you  the  heir  of  dynasties  that 
lived  and  flourished  centuries  before  your  cold  Europe 
had  emerged  from  chaos  or  risen  from  the  diluvian 
waters." 

"  You  are  the  hope  of  a  whole  nation,"  added  Pri- 


194 


±  ±  ±  4:  k  k  k  kk-kkkk  k  kkkkkkkkk-k 

THE  QUARTETTE 


yamvada,  in  a  musical  and  caressing  voice,  with  an 
accent  of  witching  flattery. 

"  I,  the  hope  of  a  whole  nation  ?  what  nonsense  !  " 
replied  Volmerange. 

"  Priyamvada  has  spoken  the  truth,"  went  on  Dak- 
sha,  bowing  and  crossing  over  his  bony  chest  his  skinny 
hands,  as  black  as  a  monkey's  ;  "  Heaven  intends  you 
for  a  great  destiny.  Touched  by  the  sufferings  of  my 
country  I  devoted  myself  for  thirty  years  to  the  most 
awful  austerity,  in  order  to  obtain  the  favour  of  the 
gods  ;  born  wealthy,  I  have  lived  as  the  poorest  pariah ; 
I  have  treated  this  miserable  body  so  harshly  that  it 
resembles  a  dried  mummy  which  has  lain  for  forty 
centuries  in  the  mummy  pits  of  Egypt ;  for  I  sought 
to  destroy  this  weak  flesh  in  order  to  allow  my  freed 
soul  to  ascend  to  the  sources  of  things,  and  to  read  the 
thoughts  of  the  gods.  Oh  !  I  have  suffered  much,"  he 
continued  with  increasing  exaltation,  "  and  I  have  paid 
dearly  for  the  gift  of  sight.  The  rain  has  poured  its 
icy  torrents,  and  the  sun  its  fiery  waves,  upon  my 
body,  which  I  kept  motionless  in  the  most  constrained 
attitude.  My  nails  have  grown  into  my  closed  hands  ; 
burning  with  thirst,  worn  out  by  hunger,  repulsive, 
soiled  with  filth,  having  nothing  human  left  about  me, 


95 


THE  QUARTETTE 

—  I  have  remained  for  many  a  summer  and  many  a 
winter,  an  object  of  terror  and  pity.  The  termites 
built  their  cities  by  my  side  ;  the  birds  of  heaven  made 
their  nests  in  my  brush-like  hair ;  and  the  mud-caked 
hippopotamus  rubbed  against  me  as  against  a  tree 
trunk  •,  the  tiger  sharpened  his  claws  upon  my  side, 
taking  me  for  a  stone  ;  the  children  tried  to  drag  out 
my  eyes,  when  they  saw  them  shine  like  pieces  of 
crystal  in  the  heap  of  inert  clay  that  I  was.  The 
thunderbolt  fell  on  me  once,  but  did  not  interrupt  mv 
prayers.  So,  Brahma,  Vishnu,  and  Siva,  took  my  pen- 
ance into  consideration,  and  the  venerable  Trimorti, 
when,  my  time  having  been  served,  I  went  to  consult 
it  in  the  caves  of  the  Elephanta,  deigned  to  tell  me 
three  times,  by  the  mouths  of  its  triple  head,  the  name 
of  the  predestined  Saviour." 

As  he  spoke  these  strange  words,  Daksha  seemed  to 
be  transfigured  ;  his  bowed  frame  was  erect,  his  eyes 
glowed  with  enthusiasm,  his  brown  face  was  lighted 
up,  his  wrinkles  had  almost  disappeared,  and  the  youth 
of  the  soul  coming  to  the  surface  effaced  for  a  time  the 
decreptitude  of  the  body. 

Volmerange,  surprised,  listened  with  a  sort  of  respect- 
ful terror,  while  Priyamvada,   filled  with  admiration, 

1 96 


&&&&&& 

THE  QUARTETTE 


took  the  hem  of  the  old  man's  dress  and  kissed  it 
respectfully  ;  to  her,  Daksha  was  a  gouro,  a  divine 
being,  and  when  she  arose  her  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears,  like  the  two  calixes  of  lotus  pearly  with  morn- 
ing dew. 

They  formed  a  charming  group ;  the  young  girl 
with  her  graceful  movements,  her  rounded  forms,  her 
sumptuous  garments,  presented  an  apparently  designed 
contrast  to  this  dry,  angular,  tall  old  man  :  they  looked 
like  the  incarnation  of  poetry  and  fanaticism. 

The  strange  scene  had  drawn  the  Count's  mind 
from  the  events  of  the  night.  All  that  had  passed  in 
the  nuptial  chamber,  and  on  Blackfriars  Bridge  seemed 
to  him  a  feverish  nightmare,  driven  away  by  the  soft 
light  of  the  morning.  He  asked  himself  whether  he 
had  really  been  married  the  day  before,  and  had  really 
hurled  his  guilty  wife  into  the  Thames.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  warning,  the 
letters,  the  ruin  of  his  happiness,  the  horrible  catas- 
trophe, and  he  looked  dreamily  at  Daksha  and  Priyam- 
vada. 

Daksha,  his  excitement  over,  was  little  by  little 
returning  to  commonplace  life,  and  losing  his  inspired 
look ;  he  was  now  only  the  parchment-like  old  man, 


197 


THE  QUARTETTE 

whose  portrait  I  have  already  drawn  ;  the  prophet  had 
disappeared,  the  man  alone  was  left,  and  he  said  to  the 
Count,  with  an  obsequious  smile  :  — 

"  Now  that  your  lordship  knows  you  are  in  the  home 
of  Daksha,  the  mouni  of  the  Brahmin  sect,  I  will 
withdraw  ;  the  ablutions  I  must  make,  to  purify  myself 
from  the  soil  which  even  the  saint  cannot  avoid  in 
these  infidel  cities,  compel  me  to  withdraw  to  my 
oriental  room.  Priyamvada  shall  remain  with  you,  and 
her  conversation  will  doubtless  be  more  agreeable  than 
that  of  an  old  Brahmin,  worn  out  by  penance."  With 
these  words  Daksha  let  fall  the  heavy  portiere  which 
he  had  raised,  and  disappeared. 

Priyamvada,  reclining  at  Volmerange's  feet  with  the 
grace  of  a  tame  gazelle,  took  his  hand  and  looking  up 
at  him  with  eyes  that  shone  in  their  lines  of  surmeh, 
said  to  him  in  a  voice  that  sounded  like  a  melodious 
cooing  :  — 

"  What  troubles  mv  gracious  lord  ?  He  seems  sad 
and  preoccupied  ;  is  he  not  happy  ?  " 

For  sole  reply  Volmerange  uttered  a  sigh. 

"  Oh !  no  one  is  happv,"  continued  Privamvada, 
"  in  this  accursed  climate,  in  this  ungrateful  land,  where 
the  flowers  bloom  only  under  glass,  with  a  stove  for  a 


198 


THE  QUARTETTE 


sun,  where  the  women  are  pale  as  the  snow  on  moun- 
tain summits  and  know  not  what  love  is." 

This  remark,  which  caused  Volmerange's  wound  to 
bleed  again,  made  him  start  painfully  ;  his  eyes  flashed, 
and  the  Hindoo  maid,  noting  the  look  of  anger,  under- 
stood she  was  right,  and  went  on  in  her  softest  voice  : 

"  Has  a  European  woman  grieved  the  descendant  of 
the  kings  of  the  lunar  dynasty  ?  " 

Volmerange  did  not  reply,  but  his  breast  heaved  with 
a  deep  sigh. 

Her  voice  melting  into  a  still  softer  intonation, 
Priyamvada  continued  her  questions  :  — 

"  Is  it  possible  that  my  lord,  whose  dazzling  beauty 
surpasses  that  of  Chandra  traversing  the  heavens  on  his 
silver  car,  was  not  loved  as  soon  as  he  deigned  to  cast 
his  glance  on  a  mere  girl,  —  when  the  apsaras  them- 
selves vvould  rejoice  to  serve  him  on  bended  knee  ?  " 

As  she  uttered  these  words  the  maid  clasped  her 
arms  around  Volmerange,  like  a  pretty  malica  flower 
clinging  to  the  trunk  of  the  amra.  Her  lovely  face, 
which  she  brought  close  to  that  of  the  Count,  seemed 
to  say,  by  the  moist  brilliance  of  the  eyes  and  the  grace 
of  the  smile,  how  completely  safe  from  such  a  misfor- 
tune her  European  cousin  would  have  been  with  her ! 


199 


•J/1  »!-»         r  K         r !,  •i^.  *J/»  rl-»         «£<»        rj^  r|*  r|j  *|*  «j*        »4«  •£»  »|»» 

THE  QUARTETTE 

For  sole  reply  Volmerange  bent  his  head  on  Priyam- 
vada's  shoulder,  who  soon  felt  his  tears  falling. 

"  Can  it  be,"  said  Priyamvada,  wiping  away  with  a 
chaste  kiss  the  tears  from  Volmerange's  eyes,  "  that 
this  capricious  woman  of  the  North,  more  changeable 
than  the  fire  of  the  opal  or  the  chameleon  skin,  de- 
ceived my  gracious  lord,  who  has  no  equal  on  earth  ? 
For  a  man  of  the  race  of  the  gods  weeps  only  when 
betrayed." 

"  Yes,  Priyamvada ;  I  have  been  betrayed,  shame- 
fully betrayed,"  cried  Volmerange,  unable  to  keep  back 
his  fatal  secret  any  longer. 

"  And  I  hope,"  went  on  Priyamvada,  in  the  quietest 
and  most  musical  tone,  "  that  my  dear  lord  has  slain 
the  guilty  one  ?  " 

"  The  Thames  has  concealed  and  punished  her 
fault." 

"That  is  a  very  gentle  punishment;  in  mv  country 
an  elephant  would  have  trampled  upon  her  lying  bosom, 
and  would  have  slowly  crushed  her  perfidious  heart ; 
or  a  tiger  would  have  torn  like  a  gauze  veil  the  body 
she  had  soiled  with  another  love,  —  unless  her  master 
had  preferred  to  shut  up  the  criminal  in  a  sack  with  a 
number  of  cobras.     Let  that  remembrance  fade  away 


200 


w»  tin  »Aj  el*  *A-»  »A»  »4»  »4»  »A^^1^  #l»        jij  »Jj  »4j  »i*  »4j  »i»         Jij  »Jg 

THE  QUARTETTE' 

from  your  mind  like  a  cloudlet  swept  from  heaven, 
like  a  flake  of  foam  in  the  ocean  ;  forget  Europe,  and 
come  to  India  where  worship  awaits  you ;  there  in 
our  burning  climate,  you  shall  breathe  breezes  laden 
with  intoxicating  scents  ;  there  giant  flowers  bend  their 
calyxes  like  urns  ;  the  lotus  spreads  languorously  upon 
the  consecrated  tirthas  ;  in  the  forests  and  meads  grow 
the  five  flowers  with  which  Cama,  the  god  of  love,  tips 
his  arrows  :  the  tchampaca,  the  amra,  the  kesara,  the 
ketaca,  and  the  bilva,  —  which  all  inflame  the  heart 
with  a  different  but  equally  hot  fire.  The  dulcet  songs 
of  the  cokilas  and  tchavatracas  sound  from  bank  to 
bank  ;  there  a  glance  enslaves  one  for  life ;  there 
woman  loves  beyond  the  tomb,  and  her  passion  burns 
out  only  in  the  ashes  of  the  pyre.  There  must  one 
live  and  die  for  a  single  love.  Oh  !  come  thither, 
master,  and  in  Priyamvada's  arms,  on  Priyamvada's 
bosom,  will  soon  pass  awav,  like  a  winter  night's 
dream,  that  long  Northern  nightmare  which  you  mis- 
take for  life !  " 

The  Hindoo  girl,  no  doubt  believing  herself  already 
back  in  her  own  land,  drew  Volmerange  to  her  bosom, 
on  which  shivered  the  golden  necklets,  and  the  pearls 
rustled   as  her  quick    breath  made  her  breasts  rise 


201 


k  i:  &  rJh  "k  k  k  -k  i:  k  -k  -k  i:  £  £  £  tfc  &  db  tl?  tl:  tfc  tfc  tlr 

•THE  QUARTETTE 


and  fall.  Thus  caught,  seized  by  the  bold,  virginal 
caress  of  the  girl,  whose  passions  were  as  artless  and 
chaste  as  those  of  nature  in  the  first  days  of  creation, 
—  Volmerange  felt  deep  emotion  ;  he  seemed  to  see 
waves  of  flame  pass  across  his  face ;  unconsciously  his 
arm  clasped  Priyamvada's  firm  waist. 

The  portiere  was  slightly  drawn  aside,  and  in  the 
interstices  shone  the  metallic  eyes  of  the  old  Brahmin  ; 
but  Volmerange  and  Priyamvada  were  too  much  taken 
up  with  each  other  to  notice  this. 

"  Good,"  said  Daksha,  as  he  gazed  ;  "  it  looks  as  if 
Europe  and  India  were  being  reconciled,  and  Priyam- 
vada and  Volmerange  proposed  to  wed  after  the  gand- 
harva  mode,  —  a  most  respectable  way  since  Manou 
has  admitted  it  among  his  laws.  Nothing  could  better 
further  my  plans." 

He  then  withdrew  as  gently  as  possible. 

"  Will  you  accompany  me  into  the  Punjab  ?  "  asked 
Priyamvada  of  the  count,  who  had  just  pressed  his  lips 
to'  her  brow. 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  still  have  a  culprit  to  punish,"  an- 
swered Volmerange,  in  a  tone  full  of  fury. 

"  That  is  proper,"  replied  the  maiden  ;  "  but  permit 
your  slave  to  feel  surprised  at  the  fact  that  the  man 


202 


ttt  «1*  «1*  rift  tit  rlt  *i*  rL*  rl»  ^»  r^t       rjj  >|»       rL,  rj,  rj*        rj*  r^t  »j»  »j»  rjht 

THE  QUARTETTE 

who  has  offended  you  has  not  yet  been  destroyed  by 
your  vengeance." 

"  I  do  not  know  him ;  I  have  proof  of  the  crime, 
but  I  do  not  know  who  is  the  criminal;  the  plot  was 
wrought  with  infernal  skill ;  I  have  no  clue  to  help 
me." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Priyamvada,  thoughtfully. 
"You  Europeans,  who  depend  on  your  fictitious  sciences 
born  yesterday,  have  ceased  to  live  in  communion  with 
nature ;  you  have  broken  the  bonds  that  bind  man  to 
the  occult  powers  of  creation.  India  is  the  land  of 
traditions  and  mysteries,  its  inhabitants  know  many 
secrets  formerly  imparted  by  the  gods,  which  would 
amaze  your  incredulous  wise  men.  Priyamvada  is 
but  a  little  girl  whom  proud  English  ladies  would  con- 
sider a  savage  fit  only  to  amuse  their  guests ;  but 
more  than  once  have  I  heard  the  Brahmins,  seated  on 
a  gazelle  skin  between  the  four  mysterious  braziers, 
speak  of  the  possible  and  the  impossible.  Well,  I  can 
show  you  the  culprit,  were  he  concealed  in  the  utter- 
most ends  of  the  earth." 


203 


THE  QUARTETTE 

XIV 

PRIYAMVADA  arose  and  fetched  from  a  corner 
of  the  room  a  small  Chinese  lacquered  table, 
which   she   placed  before  Volmerange,  who 
was  following  her  every  motion  with  restless  curiosity. 

In  a  crystal  cup  full  of  water  was  a  rose-lotus  flower, 
just  opened.  Priyamvada  took  the  flower  and  emptied 
the  water  into  a  Japanese  vase;  then  she  placed  it  on 
the  table,  after  having  filled  it  with  water  newly  drawn 
from  a  curiously  wrought  and  carefully  closed  flagon. 

"  This,"  said  the  young  Hindoo  girl,  "  is  the  myste- 
rious water  which  flowed  from  heaven  upon  Mount 
Chimavonta ;  it  falls  from  the  mouth  of  the  sacred 
cow,  which  is  guided  in  its  course  by  pious  Bagireta; 
it  is  the  sacred  water  of  the  river  formerly  known  as 
the  Chlialoros,  which  now  bears  the  name  of  Ganges. 
I  drew  it  as  I  bent  over  the  marble  steps  of  the  Benares 
pagoda,  while  performing  the  prescribed  formalities ;  it 
therefore  possesses  all  its  divine  virtues,  and  our  ex- 
periment is  an  assured  success." 


204 


•As  *£•        rJ/»  eJ/»  »4»       •^3*4*  rA»       »JU  #£•*  »^  »Jo 

THE  QUARTETTE 

The  Count  listened  most  attentively  to  Priyamvada, 
without  understanding,  however,  what  she  proposed 
to  do. 

From  a  number  of  boxes  she  drew  powders  that  she 
placed  upon  the  porcelain  perfume-burners  at  the  four 
corners  of  the  room ;  wreaths  of  faint,  bluish  vapour 
arose,  and  gave  out  a  penetrating  odour. 

"  Now,"  said  Priyamvada  to  Volmerange,  "  bend 
over  that  cup,  and  look  as  attentively  as  you  can  into 
the  water  it  contains,  while  I  pronounce  the  magic 
words  and  call  upon  the  mystic  powers." 

The  scene  was  utterly  unlike  an  ordinary  incanta- 
tion :  there  was  no  cavern,  no  hovel,  no  familiar  toad, 
no  black  cat,  no  greasy  book  ;  but  a  large,  splendid  hall, 
a  cup  of  clear  water,  perfumes,  and  a  lovely  maid. 
There  was  nothing  very  terrific  about  all  this,  yet  as 
Volmerange  bent  over  the  cup,  his  heart  beat  quickly  ; 
the  unknown  is  always  somewhat  alarming,  under  what- 
ever form  it  presents  itself. 

Standing  by  the  table,  Priyamvada  recited  a  form  of 
incantation,  in  a  low  voice  and  in  a  tongue  unknown 
to  Volmerange;  she  appeared  to  be  filled  with  the  live- 
liest fervour;  her  eyes  were  raised  to  the  ceiling,  the 
pupils  concealed  under  the  eyelids,  and  only  the  pearly 


205 


THE    QUARTE TTE 

white  of  the  orbs  showing ;  her  bosom  swelled  with 
ardent  sighs,  and  the  fire  of  prayer  imparted  a  rosy  tint 
to  the  golden  amber  of  her  skin.  She  continued  for 
some  time,  then,  speaking  in  an  intelligible  language, 
she  said,  as  if  addressing  beings  visible  to  her  alone:  — 

"Come,  Red  and  Gold,  do  your  duty." 

Volmerange,  who  up  to  this  time  had  been  bending 
over  the  cup  without  perceiving  anything  else  than  the 
pure  water,  suddenly  saw  its  limpidity  clouded  by  a 
milky  tint,  as  if  smoke  were  ascending  from  the 
bottom. 

"Has  a  cloud  appeared?"  asked  the  young  Hindoo 
girl. 

"Yes,  one  would  say  that  an  invisible  hand  had 
poured  some  essence  in  the  water,  for  it  has  suddenly 
turned  a  milky  white." 

"  It  is  the  hand  of  the  spirit  troubling  the  water," 
answered  Priyamvada,  quietly. 

The  Count  could  not  help  looking  up. 

u  Do  not  look  beyond  the  table,"  cried  Priyamvada, 
in  a  beseeching  tone;  "you  would  break  the  spell." 

Obeying  the  injunction  of  his  dark  cousin,  Volmer- 
ange again  bent  his  head. 

"  Now  what  do  you  see  ?  " 


206 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  A  circle  of  colour  is  forming  at  the  bottom  of  the 
cup." 

"  Only  one  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  now  double,  and  has  all  the  colours  of 
the  prism." 

"Two  is  not  enough,  —  three  are  needed,  one  for 
Brahma,  one  for  Vishnu,  and  one  for  Siva;  look  very 
carefully,  I  shall  repeat  the  incantation,"  said  Priyam- 
vada,  reassuming  her  curious  attitude. 

The  third  circle  appeared,  at  first  faint  and  pale,  like 
the  shadow  of  a  rainbow  seen  by  the  side  of  the  true 
one ;  soon,  however,  its  outline  became  clear,  and  shone 
radiant  and  brilliant  by  the  others. 

"  There  are  now  three  circles  !  "  cried  the  Count, 
who  in  spite  of  his  European  incredulity,  could  not 
help  being  astonished  at  the  appearance  of  the  flaming 
rings,  unexplained  by  any  physical  reason. 

"  The  three  rings  are  there,"  said  Priyamvada  ;  "  the 
frame  is  ready.  Spirits,  bring  him  we  wish  to  see.  In 
whatever  part  of  the  world,  and  at  whatever  time  he 
lived,  were  it  before  Adam,  who  is  buried  in  the  isle 
of  Serendib,  compel  him  to  appear  and  to  reveal  him- 
self, —  a  shadow  if  he  be  dead,  a  portrait  if  he  be 
living." 


207 


•A*  #A»  «JU  »1»  »A»  »4j  J/»  «A»  «|r»  »A»  •!*  ^» »4j     »4j  »4j  ^»  »|j  »4»  »l»  »4»  •!»  •i* 

THE  QUARTETTE 

These  words,  uttered  in  the  most  solemn  tone,  caused 
Volmerange  to  bend  more  eagerly  over  the  cup  ;  could 
he  trust  the  efficacy  of  Priyamvada's  magic  incanta- 
tions ?  His  prejudices  as  a  civilized  man  revolted  at 
the  thought,  yet  the  effects  she  had  already  produced 
scarcely  allowed  of  incredulity  ;  in  any  case,  his  uncer- 
tainty would  not  last  long. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  cup,  within  the  space  cir- 
cumscribed by  the  three  luminous  rings,  Volmerange 
saw,  appearing  in  the  depths  of  a  vast  distance,  a 
point  which  approached  rapidly,  becoming  clearer  and 
clearer. 

"  Do  you  see  anything  appear  ?  "  asked  Priyamvada 
of  Volmerange. 

"  A  man  whose  features  I  cannot  yet  make  out  is 
approaching  towards  me." 

"  When  you  see  him  more  distinctly,  endeavour  to 
fix  his  features  carefully  in  your  mind,  for  I  cannot 
twice  bring  up  the  spectre  of  the  same  person,"  added 
the  young  girl,  gravely.  The  figure  now  became 
more  defined,  as  if  produced  under  the  water  by  a 
mysterious  brush.  A  flash  passed  through  the  cup, 
and  Volmerange  recognized  unmistakably  Xavier's  pale, 
delicate  face. 


208 


&  £  :b    4:  &  4:  £  £  ^  4?  dHb   tb   db  sir  £  4: 4?  tiS?  sir  A 

THE  QUARTETTE 

He  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment  and  rage ;  the 
milky  cloud  again  filled  the  cup,  the  image  became 
faint,  and  everything  disappeared. 

"  Dolfos,  one  of  the  members  of  our  Junta  !  "  went 
on  Volmerange,  thunder-struck. 

Dolfos  was  Xavier's  true  name,  though  it  was  under 
the  latter  pseudonym  alone  that  Edith  knew  him. 
Xavier,  or  more  properly  Dolfos,  could  not  have  fore- 
seen these  hydromancist  performances,  and  had  thought 
by  changing  his  name  he  could  make  darker  still  the 
sombre  intrigue  he  had  wrought. 

Priyamvada,  who  appeared  in  no  way  surprised  at 
the  amazing  result,  poured  back  the  Ganges  water  into 
the  flagon  from  which  she  had  drawn  it. 

"  Now  my  dear  lord  may  be  avenged  if  he  pleases," 
said  the  maiden ;  "  my  art  has  shown  him  the  culprit." 

u  Listen,  Priyamvada,"  roared  the  Count,  as  he 
drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height  ;  "  I  shall  follow  you 
to  India,  and  do  whatever  you  please  ;  my  heart  and  my 
arm  belong  to  you,  in  return  for  the  service  you  have 
just  rendered  me.  Now  let  me  go.  I  can  think  of 
nothing  but  my  vengeance." 

"  Go,"  replied  Priyamvada  ;  "  be  dread  as  Durga  when 
he  plunges  his  trident  into  the  heart  of  vice,  fierce  as 


209 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Narsingha,  the  man  lion,  when  he  tears  the  entrails  of 
Hiranycasipu." 

She  took  the  Count  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  through 
devious  windings,  to  a  door  that  opened  on  the  street. 

When  she  returned,  Daksha,  who  had  watched  the 
whole  scene,  concealed  by  the  curtains,  was  standing  in 
the  centre  of  the  hall,  his  chin  in  his  hand,  and  his 
elbow  resting  in  the  other,  in  a  meditative  attitude. 
After  a  few  moments  he  said  to  Priyamvada :  — 

"  I  think,  maiden,  you  were  wrong  to  let  the  dear 
lord  go:  suppose  he  should  not  come  back?  " 

"  He  will  come  back,"  replied  the  girl,  a  smile  full 
of  witching  and  artless  coquetry  showing  behind  her 
diamond-studded  nose-ring. 

When  Volmerange  found  himself  in  the  street,  he 
thought  he  must  have  been  the  plaything  of  a  dream ; 
how  could  he  believe  in  such  phantasmagoria  ?  Was 
Dolfos  really  the  culprit  ?  A  secret  instinct  convinced 
him  that  he  was,  although  he  had  nothing  else  on  which 
to  base  his  belief. 

But  supposing  he  were  guilty,  how  was  Volmerange 
to  prove  it  ?  The  only  creature  who  could  have  told 
the  truth  was  now  being  carried  out  to  sea,  or  at  least 
so  thought  the  Count,  in  the  turbid   waters  of  the 


2IO 


is*********************** 

THE  QUARTETTE 


Thames.  Again,  where  could  he  find  Dolfos,  whom 
he  had  lost  sight  of  for  two  or  three  years,  and  whose 
manner  of  life  he  knew  nothing  of,  for  the  man's  cold 
and  secret  nature  had  always  aroused  Volmerange's 
antipathy.  They  had  occasionally  met,  but  had  con- 
fined themselves  to  that  strict  politeness  which 
borders  on  insult.  Some  love  affairs  in  which  Dolfos 
had  been  an  unsuccessful  rival  of  Volmerange,  appeared 
to  have  left  in  his  soul  a  deep  rancour,  which  he  care- 
fully concealed,  but  which  had  awakened  every  evil 
feeling  in  his  vile  heart. 

A  further  uncertainty  tortured  the  Count :  possibly 
Dolfos  had  acted  in  accordance  with  the  orders  of  the 
Junta,  and  then,  backed  by  the  powerful  association,  he 
might  escape  his  well-merited  chastisement;  no  doubt 
some  ship  was  already  carrying  him  away  towards  an 
unknown  country,  and  concealing  him  forever  from  his 
pursuer. 

He  had  got  so  far  in  his  reasoning,  when  suddenly, 
by  one  of  those  chances  which  are  true  in  life  though 
improbable  in  a  novel,  Dolfos,  turning  the  corner  of 
the  street,  found  himself  face  to  face  with  him. 

At  the  sight  of  Volmerange,  Dolfos  understood 
that  he  knew  all  ;  he  was  terror-struck  at  the  sight  of 


211 


THE  QUARTETTE 

the  livid  face,  in  which  flamed  two  glaring  eyes,  and 
threw  himself  back  abruptly  ;  but  the  Count's  hand 
clutched  his  arm  like  a  grappling-iron,  and  held  him 
back. 

"  Dolfos,"  said  the  Count,  "  I  know  everything  ;  do 
not  attempt  to  lie  ;  you  belong  to  me,  follow  me." 

The  wretch  tried  to  escape  from  the  grasp  of  the 
strong  hand,  but  failed. 

w  Shall  I  have  to  strike  you  in  the  open  street,  like 
the  coward  you  are,  to  compel  you  to  fight  ?  "  went  on 
Volmerange  ;  "  I  have  the  right  to  kill  you,  and  yet  I 
shall  risk  my  life  against  yours,  as  if  you  were  an  hon- 
ourable man.  I  can  understand  a  man  seducing  a 
woman,  for  love  excuses  everything  ;  but  there  is  noth- 
ing more  monstrous  and  abominable  in  hell  than  to 
ruin  her  coolly  and  hatefully  :  you  have  made  me  a 
murderer,  and  I  now  must  kill  you,  —  I  owe  it  to 
Edith's  memory." 

"  Very  well,  I  shall  follow  you,"  replied  Dolfos  ; 
"  but  let  go  my  wrist,  you  are  breaking  it." 

"  No,"  replied  Volmerange,  "  you  would  run  away." 

The  Count  called  a  passing  carriage  and  made  the 
pale  and  trembling  Dolfos  enter  it  before  him 

"Drive  to  ,"  said  the  Count.    It  was  a  little 


212 


THE  QUARTETTE 

country-house,  a  cottage  which  he  owned  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Richmond. 

Although  the  drive  was  rapid,  it  seemed  long  to  the 
two  enemies.  Dolfos,  cowering  in  a  corner  of  the 
carriage,  looked  like  a  hyena  driven  to  bay  by  a  lion, 
while  Volmerange  watched  him  with  sinister  feelings. 
Volmerange  was  calm,  Dolfos  perturbed. 

The  cottage  was  at  last  reached ;  an  old  servant  was 
in  charge  of  the  house,  to  which  the  Count  rarely 
repaired  with  his  friends,  when  he  gave  a  bachelor 
party. 

The  cottage  was  planned  discreetly  :  no  one  could 
look  into  the  grounds,  surrounded  by  high  palings ; 
there  was  no  importunate  neighbour;  neither  the  breath- 
ings of  love  nor  the  yells  of  an  orgy  would  awake  any 
one's  attention  ;  on  the  other  hand,  two  men  might 
kill  each  other  there  quite  comfortably.  To  one  who 
had  voluptuous  intentions  it  was  a  Calypso's  grotto ; 
with  sinister  ones  it  became  the  cave  of  Cacus.  I  hope 
all  this  mythology  will  be  forgiven  me.  Volmerange's 
intentions  were  not  pleasant ;  hence  the  cottage  became 
a  cut-throat  place. 

Day  was  sinking,  and  the  room  into  which  Volme- 
range entered,  driving  Dolfos  before  him,  was  damp 


213 


THE  QUARTETTE 

and  cold  like  a  chamber  in  a  tomb ;  it  had  not  been 
opened  for  a  long  time. 

Dolfos  let  himself  fall  into  an  arm-chair,  and  leaned 
his  head  on  his  hand ;  he  was  terribly  cast  down ; 
although  boldly  imaginative,  he  lacked  physical  cour- 
age ;  he  began  to  repent,  as  is  the  habit  of  cowards 
when  found  out.  Although  he  had  received  orders 
from  the  Junta  to  keep  Volmerange  and  Edith  apart, 
he  had  unquestionably  overstepped  his  powers  in  a 
most  audacious  fashion,  and  indulged  too  largely  his 
own  private  hatred  ;  he  experienced  the  bitter,  hopeless 
regret  of  unsuccessful  rascality. 

"  Daniel,  take  that  letter  to  the  city,"  said  Volme- 
range, after  having  folded  the  paper,  to  the  old  man 
whom  he  had  called  in  ;  "  it  is  in  a  great  hurry." 

The  old  servant  went  off,  and  when  Volmerange 
heard  the  entrance  door  close,  he  said  to  Dolfos  :  — 

"  Now  we  can  have  it  out  together." 

Then,  livid  as  a  spectre,  his  teeth  set,  his  eyes 
bloodshot,  he  took  from  a  trophy  suspended  from  the 
wall,  two  swords  of  equal  length,  put  them  under  his 
arm,  and  started  for  the  garden  ;  Dolfos  followed  him 
mechanically,  as  a  criminal  follows  the  executioner; 
he  tried  to  scream,  but  his  voice  stuck  in  his  dry  throat ; 


214 


 THE  QUARTETTE 


besides,  no  one  would  have  heard.  He  wanted  to 
stop,  to  grovel  on  the  ground,  to  resist  passively ;  but 
he  knew  Volmerange  would  drive  him  or  drag  him 
along  with  his  powerful  hand,  like  a  hook  dragging  a 
body  to  the  charnel  pit.  So  Dolfos,  usually  so  elo- 
quent and  so  crafty,  walked  on,  mute  and  stupefied, 
for  he  had  at  once  felt  that  prayer  and  falsehood  were 
equally  useless. 

As  they  passed  before  a  rustic  hut,  Volmerange 
entered  it  for  a  moment,  and  returned  with  a  spade. 

This  ominous  action  made  the  blood  of  Dolfos  run 
colder  still.  The  pair  thus  proceeded  to  the  very  end 
of  the  grounds. 

Once  there,  Volmerange  stopped  and  said  :  — 

"  This  place  will  do." 

It  was  indeed  very  well  arranged.  The  trees,  which 
autumn  had  stripped  of  their  leaves,  and  whose  black 
limbs  stood  out  against  the  crimson  clouds  of  evening, 
formed  at  this  place  a  sort  of  circle,  apparently  designed 
expressly  for  a  duelling  ground. 

The  Count,  placing  the  two  swords  beyond  the 
reach  of  Dolfos,  took  the  spade  and  drew  on  the  sand 
a  parallelogram  about  as  long  as  a  man  lying  down ; 
then  he  began  to  dig,  throwing  the  earth  to  right  and 


215 


THE  QUARTETTE 

left.  Stiff  with  terror,  Dolfos  leaned  against  the  tree, 
and  in  a  faint  voice  said  to  Volmerange :  — 

"  In  God's  name,  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"What  am  I  doing?"  answered  Volmerange,  with- 
out stopping  his  work;  "I  am  digging  your  grave  or 
mine,  as  it  may  chance,  —  the  survivor  will  bury  the 
other." 

"  That  is  horrible  !  "  groaned  Dolfos. 

"  I  do  not  think  ac,"  went  on  Volmerange,  with 
cruel  irony ;  "I  do  noi  suppose  that  we  intend  to 
scratch  each  other  merely.  What  I  am  doing  is  con- 
venient and  decent.  However,  you  dig  in  your  turn," 
he  added,  emerging  from  the  half-made  grave ;  "  it  is 
not  right  that  I  alone  should  tire  myself  out.  We 
must  both  make  the  bed  in  which  one  of  us  is  to 
lie." 

So  saying,  he  handed  the  spade  to  Dolfos,  who, 
trembling  all  over,  made  five  or  six  attempts  to  dig, 
but  succeeded  in  removing  only  a  small  quantity  of 
earth. 

"Come,  let  me  finish,"  said  Volmerange,  taking  the 
spade  back  ;  "  though  you  are  such  a  good  actor,  you 
would  not  do  for  the  part  of  the  grave-digger  in 
'Hamlet,' — you  dig  badly,  my  master." 


216 


THE  QUARTETTE 


The  night  had  almost  fallen  when  the  Count  had 
finished  his  dreadful  work. 

"  Come,  that  is  dug  deep  enough.  Now  for  the 
swords,"  said  the  Count,  throwing  one  to  Dolfos  and 
keeping  the  other. 

"There  is  no  more  light,"  cried  the  wretch;  "are 
we  to  slay  each  other  in  the  dark  ?  " 

"  There  is  always  light  enough  to  kill  each  other ; 
passing  from  life  to  death  is  an  easy  transition.  Dark 
as  it  may  be,  we  can  always  feel  a  sword  penetrating 
our  bodies,"  said  the  Count,  lunging  fiercely  at  Dolfos, 
who  uttered  a  groan. 

"  I  have  hit  you,"  said  the  Count,  "  for  the  point 
of  my  sword  is  wet." 

Dolfos  immediately  lunged  hard  at  the  Count. 

Volmerange  parried  the  thrust  by  a  prompt  retreat, 
and  binding  his  adversary's  sword  with  his  own, 
made  it  fly  from  his  hands. 

Seeing  himself  lost,  Dolfos  threw  himself  on  the 
ground,  crouched  like  a  tiger,  seized  Volmerange  round 
the  legs,  and  made  him  fall. 

Then  began  a  dreadful  struggle ;  bound  by  the  mad 
grasp  of  Dolfos,  whom  cowardice  and  despair  turned 
into  a  raging  wild  beast,  Volmerange  was  unable  to  use 


217 


THE  QUARTETTE 


his  sword  ;  he  had  tried  to  thrust  it  into  Dolfos'  back, 
even  at  the  risk  of  running  it  through  his  own  heart 
after  piercing  his  adversary,  but  he  could  not  manage 
it,  and  the  sword  escaped  him.  With  his  hand  now 
free,  he  seized  his  enemy  by  the  throat. 

The  two  adversaries  had  fallen  near  the  open  grave ; 
as  they  rolled  on  the  ground  in  that  cannibal-like 
struggle,  their  turnings  and  twistings  brought  them 
near  the  open  grave,  into  which  they  rolled,  without 
letting  go,  pell-mell  with  the  fallen  earth.  Only, 
Dolfos  was  underneath.  Volmerange's  fingers  sank 
deep  into  his  flesh  and  strangled  him  like  a  Spanish 
garrote ;  the  wretch  foamed  at  the  mouth,  a  low  rattling 
was  heard  in  his  throat,  his  limbs  stiffened ;  soon  the 
convulsions  ceased,  and  Volmerange,  freeing  himself 
from  the  dead  man's  grasp,  sprang  out  of  the  grave, 
saying  :  — 

"  A  very  obliging  corpse  —  he  has  buried  himself." 

Taking  the  spade  he  hastily  covered  up  the  body, 
smoothed  the  ground  carefully,  and  trampled  it  down. 

"  Now  that  I  have  settled  this  matter,  let  me  return 
to  Priyamvada,  and  together  we  will  forsake  this  old 
Europe,  where  I  leave  two  dead  bodies." 


218 


4*  4^  4>  ri^  4»  4»  4»  »jU  4*  4»  ^^|?  ts?dbtl?dbtl?t5?  Tt?Tt?T^? 

THE  QUARTETTE 
4. 4«  4>  4-  4»  4.  4. 4.  4*  4. 4. 4.4. 4. 4. 4. 4,  4.  4.  4. 4. 4>  4.  4. 

«*«  w«    «vw    *-r-  VM  «T»     «*M    «*•    «T*    «*•  *T*   «r*  OT*  WW  %T*  «*«    V*W    »» * 


XV 

WE  left  the  "  Lovely  Jenny "  issuing  from 
the  Thames  into  the  open.  Probably 
the  captain  did  not  know  whither  they 
were  bound,  for  when  the  great  waves  of  the  open  sea 
began  to  lave  the  bulwarks  of  the  ship,  he  respectfully 
asked  Sidney,  who,  sunk  in  thought,  was  seated  upon 
a  coil  of  rope  :  — 

"  Where  are  we  going  to,  sir  ?  " 
"You  will  find  out  when  we  get  there,  my  dear 
Captain  Peppercull." 

"Oh!  I  did  not  ask  through  curiosity,"  answered 
the  latter,  "  but  the  wheelman  has  to  know  whether  to 
put  the  helm  to  port  or  starboard." 

"  That  is  right,"  answered  Sir  Arthur  Sidney,  with  a 
faint  smile,  though  he  still  named  no  course. 

"  The  wind,"  went  on  Peppercull,  "  has  hauled  since 
yesterday ;  it  is  fair  for  a  clear  course  down  Channel 
and  out  into  the  Atlantic ;  but  if  you  happen  to 
have  business  in  the  Baltic  or  the  Arctic,  why,  by 
beating  to  windward  we  can  manage  to  get  there." 


219 


£4*4*££  4. 4.4;  4:4.4.4.4.  *S?   &  dbrbdbtlr  drtfctSrtS; 

THE  QUARTETTE  

"  Since  the  wind  is  taking  us  down  Channel,"  said  Sid- 
ney, with  an  air  of  carelessness  admirably  assumed  if  it 
was  not  genuine,  "  let  us  go  where  the  wind  takes  us." 

The  captain  at  once  gave  orders  to  have  the  "  Lovely 
Jenny "  kept  away ;  in  a  twinkling  the  yards  were 
hauled,  and  the  ship,  with  a  strong  and  steady  free 
wind,  dashed  rapidly  on  between  two  lines  of  foam. 

Seeing  that  Sidney  kept  silence,  Peppercull  did  not 
think  fit  to  attempt  to  enter  into  conversation,  and 
respectfully  withdrew  some  distance  away. 

Sidney  called  Jack,  MacgilPs  friend,  who  was  busy 
splicing  a  rope. 

"  Show  to  my  cabin  the  woman  we  picked  up  last 
night." 

"  I  shall  bring  her  to  your  lordship,"  said  Jack,  dis- 
appearing down  the  hatchway  like  an  opera  demon 
down  a  trap-door. 

While  Jack  fetched  Edith,  —  who  was  lying  in  a 
hammock  between  decks,  —  Sidney,  his  brow  darkened 
by  deep  thought,  proceeded  to  his  cabin  to  meet  the 
young  woman. 

But  when  the  cabin  door  opened,  it  was  not  the 
drowning  woman  whose  white  form  had  flashed  through 
the  darkness  that  appeared,  but  a  slender  young  fellow 


220 


THE  QUARTETTE 


of  medium  stature,  wearing  a  sailor's  jersey  and  oil-skin 
coat ;  the  delicate,  regular  features  of  his  oval  face 
were  extraordinarily  pale  ;  the  sunken  eyes  shone  with 
the  light  of  fever,  and  the  colourless  lips  were  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  the  rest  of  the  skin ;  shame  min- 
gled with  his  sadness,  and  when  Sidney  looked  at  him, 
a  faint  blush  rose  to  his  cheeks. 

Sidney's  glance  betrayed  his  astonishment  at  seeing 
a  sailor  lad  when  he  expected  a  woman,  but  Jack, 
coming  up  behind  the  supposed  youth,  understood  his 
chief's  surprise  and  put  an  end  to  it. 

"  When  we  drew  the  lady  from  the  water,  sir,  she 
had  on  nothing  but  a  muslin  wrapper,  and  as  we  did  not 
happen  to  have  a  woman's  dress  on  board,  I  put  by 
her  hammock  that  red  jersey  and  the  oil-skin  coat ;  that 
is  how  the  lady  we  picked  up  turns  out  to  be  a  hand- 
some sailor  lad." 

u  That  will  do,  Jack ;  leave  us,"  said  Sir  Arthur 
Sidnev,  with  a  gesture  of  command. 

Sidney,  left  alone  with  Edith,  fixed  upon  her  a  scru- 
tinising glance,  as  piercing  as  that  of  an  eagle ;  it  was 
less  a  glance  than  a  luminous  beam  that  seemed  to 
seek  within  the  head  and  the  heart  the  thought  in  the 
brain  and  the  feeling  in  the  bosom. 


221 


?t?  db  .1?  tl?  ^?  tb       'sC  tj?  tfi*   *t?    ?f?  tI?  r tfr    *fr    fff  t% 

THE  QUARTETTE 


Edith  remained  impassible  during  this  examination, 
which  was  no  doubt  favourable  to  her,  for  Sidney  rose 
with  as  much  respectful  politeness  as  if  he  had  been  in 
a  drawing-room,  took  her  by  the  tips  of  the  fingers, 
and  said,  as  he  led  her  to  a  sofa,  provided  with  cushions, 
that  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  cabin  :  — 

"  I  beg  you  will  sit  down,  madam  ;  you  appear  weak 
and  ill,  and  any  one  who  has  not  yet  got  his  sea  legs 
finds  it  difficult  to  stand." 

The  fact  is  the  "  Lovely  Jenny,"  going  free,  plunged 
into  the  sea  like  a  spirited  horse,  and  the  level  of  the 
floor  changed  constantly. 

Led  by  Sidney,  Edith  let  herself  fall  rather  than  she 
sat  down  upon  the  sofa. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  which  Sidney  broke 
with  his  harmonious,  calm  voice,  made  softer  still  by 
an  accent  of  pity. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you,  madam,  whether  it  was  crime  or 
despair  that  cast  you  into  the  Thames  on  that  dreadful 
stormy  night.  By  a  miracle  there  passed  near  you  a 
boat  filled  with  people  hastening  in  the  darkness  to 
perform  a  mysterious  work.  You  fell  from  heaven 
into  that  secret ;  by  a  most  unexpected  chance  you 
upset  the  best-laid  precautions,  which  no  one  should 


222 


•i*        »JL  rl/i  <•!-.  «Jt»         rf  -i  rA*  »1»  tl«  tt?  t^C  ti?  ^7?        ^1?  ts? 

THE  QUARTETTE 


have  seen,  and  no  one  must  tell  of.  A  blow  from  an 
oar  would  have  hurled  you  back  into  the  water  —  my 
men  awaited  but  a  sign  from  me." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  make  it  ?"  interrupted  Edith, 
putting  her  diaphanous  hands  to  her  reddened  eyes. 

u  I  did  not  do  it,"  continued  Sidney,  "  for  something 
called  out  to  me ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  to  give  back  to 
death  a  being  whom  a  marvellous  chance  was  keeping 
alive,  would  have  been  cold  barbarity,  a  sort  of  impiety 
towards  fate.  But  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  that  the  life 
I  give  you  back,  I  cannot  give  you  the  free  use  of, — . 
not  at  least,  until  the  great  work  in  which  I  am  engaged 
has  been  finished.  The  vessel  on  which  we  are  will 
not  stop  before  it  has  reached  the  most  distant  seas; 
until  that  time  comes,  you  must  be  dead  to  the  world." 

"You  need  not  fear,  sir;  I  have  no  desire  to  come 
back  to  life." 

"  The  costume  you  have  put  on,"  continued  Sidney, 
"  you  shall  keep  for  some  time.  Later,  I  shall  tell  you 
when  to  change  it.  You  need  have  no  fear;  in  spite 
of  our  sinister  and  gloomy  appearance,  we  are  honest 
men,  working  for  a  great  end." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  Sidney's  eyes  lighted  up, 
his  brow  became  radiant,  his  whole  face  was  illumined  ; 


223 


sb  ib  «b  sfc 4:    d?  4?  4? «?  4?  4?  :*?  :fc  db  d:   ^:  tir  tt?  tS:  :f? 

THE  QUARTETTE 


but  soon,  as  if  ashamed  of  this  effusion,  he  resumed  his 
cool  look  and  his  cold  attitude. 

M  You  may  trust  to  my  honour,  madam  ;  I  have  not 
saved  you  from  death  to  devote  you  to  infamy  ;  since 
murder  or  suicide  threw  you  into  the  river,  you  must 
emerge  from  it  radiant  and  pardoned  ;  with  me  danger 
becomes  glorious,  and  if  you  die  in  the  fulfilment  of 
the  work  we  are  engaged  in,  future  ages  will  bless  your 
name." 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  answered  Edith  ;  "  now  that  every  tie 
which  connected  me  with  life  is  broken,  I  feel  I  can 
live  for  devotion  only;  my  life  is  over;  I  have  neither 
end,  hope,  nor  reason  for  living  ;  everything  is  impossi- 
ble to  me,  even  death,  since  God  suspended  me  over 
the  abyss  without  letting  me  sink  into  it.  Do  as  you 
please  with  your  handmaid  ;  let  your  will  be  mine;  let 
your  soul  take  the  place  of  my  empty  heart ;  be  my 
thought ;  I  forswear  myself  from  this  day,  and  forget 
who  I  am  ;  I  shall  forget  even  my  own  name,  and  take 
the  one  you  shall  give  me ;  a  phantom  may  be  baptised 
at  will ;  I  shall  stand  and  go  on  until  the  day  when 
you  shall  say  to  me  :  '  Spectre,  I  need  thee  no  longer ; 
lie  down  again  in  thy  tomb.'  " 

"  I  accept  you,"  said  Sir  Arthur  Sidney,  in  an  almost 


224 


~U  4;  4;  4;  4;  4»  4*  4j  4j  4,  4»  4.4;  jgy  jg;     4;  4;  4*  4*4;  4;4» 

THE  QUARTETTE 


solemn  and  religious  tone ;  "  and  since,  poor  broken 
young  soul,  you  give  yourself  unreservedly,  and  devote 
yourself  to  our  task  with  ardour  and  faith,  I  promise 
you,  if  not  happiness,  at  least  rest.  Henceforth 
you  shall  inhabit  this  little  room  by  my  cabin,  and 
in  the  eyes  of  the  crew,  which  has  not  seen  you 
in  your  woman's  dress,  you  shall  pass  for  my  cabin 
boy." 

Edith  was  installed  in  the  small  cabin ;  her  duties, 
more  apparent  than  real,  were  limited  to  fetching  a 
book  for  Sidney,  or  bringing  him  his  spy-glass  j  the 
rest  of  the  time,  leaning  on  the  rail  or  perched  in  the 
top,  she  let  her  glance  wander  over  the  clouds  and 
the  ocean,  which  seemed  small  to  her  by  the  side  of 
her  grief.  The  vessel  sailed  on,  enclosed  within  that 
brazen  circle  which  the  horizon  at  sea  traces  around 
ships ;  the  sun  rose  and  set ;  the  white  horses  shook 
their  foaming  manes;  the  dolphins  played  in  the  ship's 
wake  like  tritons  and  sirens ;  from  time  to  time  a 
grey  streak,  bordered  with  foam,  shone  far  away  to 
port,  looking  like  a  cloud-bank  coloured  by  a  sun- 
beam j  albatrosses,  sleeping  in  their  flight,  soared  above 
the  masts  or  skimmed  the  waves,  one  wing  in  the 
water,  the  other  in  the  air;  the  farther  the  ship  pro- 


T5 


225 


THE  QUARTETTE 

ceeded,  the  brighter  became  the  sky,  as  the  Northern 
fogs  were  left  behind  like  vanishing  spectres. 

But  soon  everything  disappeared,  —  the  birds  and  the 
outlines  of  the  distant  shores;  and  nothing  was  visible  but 
the  sea  and  the  sky  in  their  monotonous  grandeur  and 
sterile  agitation.  The  Venetian  song  says,  with  won- 
drous melancholy,  that  it  is  sad  to  go  to  sea  without 
love :  it  is  both  true  and  beautiful,  for  love  alone  can 
fill  the  infinite;  but  no  doubt  the  song  did  not  mean  a 
hopeless,  broken  love,  like  that  of  Edith  for  Volmerange. 
Deep  sadness  filled  the  poor  girl's  heart ;  she  could  not 
help  thinking  of  the  happy  life  she  might  have  led,  for 
which  God  and  society  had  meant  her,  and  which  a 
complication  of  wicked  intrigues  had  made  impossible ; 
she  thought  of  Lord  and  Lady  Harley,  and  the  dreadful 
despair  of  her  noble  father  and  kind  mother  ;  the  tears 
flowed  silently  down  her  beautiful  pale  face,  more 
bitter  than  the  ocean  into  which  they  fell. 

By  a  strange  contradiction,  which  will  not  astonish 
women,  she  loved  Volmerange  more  than  ever  since 
that  terrible  night ;  his  fierce  violence  proved  the  great- 
ness of  his  love;  his  implacable  rigour  pleased  her;  had 
he  been  more  indulgent  she  would  have  thought  him 
cold ;  a  man  must  love  madly  when  he  believes  he  has 


226 


THE  QUARTETTE 

the  right  to  slay.  What  hopes  of  happiness  must  Vol- 
merange  have  entertained,  since  he  could  not  bear  their 
being  swept  away !  What  was  he  doing  now,  desper- 
ate, filled  with  remorse,  no  doubt  compelled  to  flee  ? 
What  effect  had  the  sinister  and  mysterious  catastrophe 
produced  in  society  ?  Such  were  the  questions,  ever 
the  same,  and  answered  in  a  hundred  ways,  which 
Edith  asked  herself  as  the  "  Lovely  Jenny,"  sometimes 
driven  by  a  strong  breeze,  sometimes  coaxing  into  her 
sails  the  faintest  of  airs,  proceeded  towards  her  mysteri- 
ous destination. 

Benedict,  on  his  part,  thought  a  great  deal  of  Miss 
Annabel,  and  every  time  he  passed  Edith  on  deck,  the 
two  looked  sadly  at  each  other,  for  each  knew  the 
other  was  in  grief. 

At  last  Madeira  hove  in  sight.  Sidney  sent  a  boat 
ashore  to  renew  his  supplies,  and  to  purchase  a  com- 
plete outfit  for  Edith,  —  gowns,  linen,  shawl,  bonnets, 
—  nothing  was  lacking;  it  was  like  a  bridal  trousseau. 
Yet  she  was  not  permitted  to  leave  off  her  sailor-boy's 
dress. 

Whether  Benedict  had  thought  it  his  duty  to  obey 
the  oath  which  he  had  once  taken,  or  whether  Sidney 
had  really  converted  him  to  his  views,  —  he  had  ceased 


227 


&&&&&&  &&&&&'k&rJk&&£:?k£:ik&4:&& 

THE  QUARTETTE 

to  rebel  against  the  strange  kidnapping  which  had 
snatched  him  away  so  suddenly  from  happiness,  and  did 
not  seem  to  bear  any  grudge  against  his  friend. 

They  would  spend  long  days  in  the  cabin,  leaning 
on  the  swinging  table,  covered  with  papers  and  mathe- 
matical instruments.  Sir  Arthur  Sidney,  after  long 
meditation,  would  draw  on  a  slip  of  paper  complicated 
designs  covered  with  algebraic  signs  and  reference 
letters,  which  Benedict  carefully  copied  in  ink  with  the 
greatest  possible  accuracy  ;  sometimes  before  he  copied 
them  he  would  make  remarks,  to  which  Sidney  listened 
with  deep  attention,  and  which  occasionally  brought 
about  some  change  in  the  original  plan. 

Soon  the  two  friends  passed  from  the  drawing  of 
plans  to  the  making  of  a  model  on  a  small  scale  ;  they 
gravely  cut  small  pieces  of  wood,  as  long  as  a  finger, 
the  use  of  which  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  guess. 
When  they  were  all  cut  Sidney  put  together  very  skil- 
fully the  separate  numbered  pieces  which  Benedict 
handed  him,  the  latter  appearing  to  take  an  equally 
lively  interest  in  the  work.  After  a  month  of  this 
constant  labour  they  turned  out  a  boat  one  foot  long, 
externally  exactlv  like  those  which  compose  the  flotil- 
las that  children  sail  on  the  basins  of  the  parks  or  the 


228 


tib  &  ~Jk  &  &  4?  4?  4;  4?  4?  4.  4»  4?  4*  4? 4*  4. 4;  4;  4j  4j  4»  4* 
 THE  QUARTETTE  

royal  gardens,  —  but  internally  it  was  filled  with  wheels, 
tubes,  and  bulkheads. 

The  result,  though  apparently  puerile,  seemed  to 
delight  the  two  friends  greatly ;  Sidney  uttered  a  cry 
of  satisfaction  as  he  fixed  the  last  board. 

"  I  think  we  have  succeeded,"  said  he,  "  at  least  as 
much  as  we  may  be  certain  of  in  theory." 

"We  must  test  it,"  answered  Arundel. 

"Nothing  is  easier,"  replied  Sidney,  ringing  a  bell 
placed  near  him. 

Emerging  from  the  forecastle,  where  he  was  busy 
with  a  friend,  in  making  a  comparative  study  of  the 
specific  strength  of  rum,  Jack  presently  appeared  and 
waited,  twisting  his  hat  between  his  fingers,  for  Sir 
Arthur's  orders. 

"  Bring  me  a  tub  full  of  water,"  said  Sidney  to  Jack, 
who,  surprised  at  the  strange  order,  asked  to  have  it 
repeated. 

"  Your  honour  said  a  tub  full  of  water  ?  " 
"  Yes,  what  is  there  surprising  in  that  ?  "  answered 
Sidney. 

"  Nothing,  sir ;  I  had  not  heard  you  correctly," 
answered  Jack.    "  I  will  fetch  it  at  once." 

A  few  minutes  later  he  reappeared  with  his  friend 


229 


THE  QUARTETTE 

Macgill  carrying  between  them  the  tub  full  of  water, 
which  they  carefully  placed  at  the  entrance  of  the 
cabin. 

When  the  two  sailors  had  gone,  Sidney  carefully 
took  the  little  boat  and  placed  it  in  the  water  as  seri- 
ously as  a  child  launching  a  ship  of  war  in  a  basin. 

But  curiously  enough,  the  boat,  instead  of  floating,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  gradually  sank  and  disap- 
peared under  the  water  in  the  tub ;  a  performance  that 
appeared  to  give  great  satisfaction  to  both  Sidney 
and  Benedict, —  though  boats  are  not  usually  built  to 
sink. 

Sidney,  who  noticed  with  enthusiasm  that  the  little 
boat  had  not  sunk  to  the  bottom,  cried  out  :  — 

"  Look,  Benedict,  it  keeps  just  at  the  right  depth. 
My  calculations  were  correct ;  now  I  am  sure  of 
everything." 

His  eyes  flashed,  and  his  nostrils  dilated  with  noble 
pride  ;  but  soon  recovering  his  customary  coolness,  he 
pulled  up  his  sleeve,  plunged  his  bare  arm  into  the 
water,  drew  out  the  little  boat,  and  carefully  locked  it 
up  after  drying  it.  Benedict  also  seemed  very  much 
pleased  at  the  success  of  the  operation,  and  from  that 
day  a  ray  of  hope  lightened  his  sadness. 


230 


THE  QUARTETTE 


As  for  poor  Edith,  who  was  not  in  the  secret  of  the 
craft,  her  melancholy  had  turned  into  a  dull  resigna- 
tion ;  as  I  have  said,  she  had  no  other  distraction  than 
the  prospect  of  ocean. 

The  voyage  had  lasted  nearly  three  months,  and  did 
not  seem  to  be  drawing  to  an  end  ;  the  Canary  and 
Cape  Verde  Islands  had  disappeared  in  the  far  distance. 
On  passing  Ascension  Island  Macgill  and  Jack  were 
sent  in  the  boat  to  the  post-office  cave,  and  found  in 
the  bottle  suspended  from  the  ceiling  a  roll  of  paper 
covered  with  enigmatical  signs,  which  they  handed  to 
Sir  Arthur  Sidney. 

Sir  Arthur  easily  read  the  curious  writing,  after  hav- 
ing placed  upon  it  a  grille  which  he  drew  from  his 
pocket-book ;  he  appeared  satisfied  with  the  contents 
of  the  note,  for  he  said  to  Benedict :  "  It  is  all  right, 
everything  is  going  on  satisfactorily." 

A  few  days  after  they  had  passed  Ascension  Island, 
a  small  gray  cloud  began  to  rise  from  the  sea,  like  a 
wisp  of  mist  drawn  up  by  the  sun ;  soon  it  became 
somewhat  denser,  and  its  outlines  showed  more  plainly 
on  the  clear  horizon.  With  a  telescope  it  could  be 
plainly  made  out ;  it  assuredly  was  not  a  cloud,  but 
land  ;  the  island  rose  gradually  from  the  waters,  and, 

231 


THE  QUARTETTE 

owing  to  the  curve  of  the  sea,  showed  as  yet  only  its 
mountain  summits  ;  soon,  however,  it  was  seen  in  its 
entirety,  motionless  and  sombre,  and  girdled  with  foam, 
in  the  centre  of  space. 

Huge  precipitous  rocks,  two  thousand  feet  high, 
overhung  in  volcanic  masses  the  sea,  which  beat  at 
their  feet  and  rolled  with  mad  anger  into  the  caves 
hollowed  out  by  its  attacks  ;  it  seemed  to  be  conscious 
of  what  it  was  doing,  so  fiercely  did  the  billows  return 
to  the  charge.  The  cloud-capped  tops  of  these  granite 
masses,  shrouded  at  their  feet  by  a  mist  of  spray,  were 
tipped  with  sunbeams ;  the  gigantic  steeps  and  bare 
slopes,  on  which  the  lava  of  extinct  volcanoes  ran  in 
furrows,  like  the  cicatrices  of  former  wounds,  the 
summits,  worn  by  torrential  rains,  formed  a  picture  at 
-once  majestically  savage  and  sinister  ;  it  had  a  grandly 
horrible  look.  The  rocks  seemed  to  have  fallen  from 
heaven  on  the  day  the  giants  endeavoured  to  scale  it ; 
they  were  still  shattered  and  burned  by  the  thunder- 
bolts; evidently  something  superhuman  was  going  on 
there,  —  some  incredible  vengeance,  a  torture  like  that 
of  the  cross  of  the  Caucasus ;  involuntarily  the  eye 
sought  upon  the  summits  the  colossal  silhouette  of  a 
chained  Prometheus.     Indeed  it  would  not  have  taken 


232 


m  C^7  ^7  *A*  "A*  "l"  *4*  tf?  tfctl?  «t»  *M*  jbtfe 

THE  QUARTETTE 


much  fancy  to  see  in  the  wind-shaped  cloud  which 
hovered  above  the  broken  crest,  like  a  human  form, 
the  fierce  vulture  itself. 

In  point  of  fact  a  Prometheus,  as  great  as  his  pro- 
totype, was  suffering  there,  crucified  for  five  years 
past  by  strength  and  power,  as  in  the  tragedy  of 
Aeschylus. 

The  whole  crew  was  on  deck.  Sir  Arthur  Sidney 
gazed  at  the  black  island  with  an  unfathomable  glance 
of  mingled  shame,  grief,  and  hope  •,  he  grasped  mutely 
the  hand  of  Benedict  standing  by  him  and  apparently 
also  a  prey  to  deep  emotion.  Captain  Peppercull  had 
left  a  gallon  of  rum  half  emptied,  a  most  striking  mark 
of  his  mental  perturbation. 

Orders  were  given  to  cast  anchor  opposite  the  town, 
the  grey  houses  of  which  showed  within  the  deep 
ravine  between  the  mountains,  open  at  this  place  alone, 
for  everywhere  else  the  hills  surround  the  island  like  a 
girdle  of  towers  and  bastions. 

Edith,  who  had  lived  aboard  the  "  Lovely  Jenny  " 
in  absolute  isolation,  and  had  no  knowledge  of  the  dis- 
tance traversed  by  the  ship,  moved  by  curiosity  at  the 
sight  of  land,  timidly  approached  Sir  Arthur  Sidney, 
who,  unable  to  detach  his  glance  from   the  prospect 


233 


THE  QUARTETTE 


before  him,  placed  his  hand  on  her  arm,  for  he  paid 
no  attention  to  her.  She  said  to  him,  in  a  somewhat 
trembling  voice,  for  she  never  spoke  to  him  first :  — 

"  What  is  the  name  of  that  island  ?  " 

"  That  island,"  replied  Sir  Arthur  Sidney,  in  a  sin- 
gular tone,  as  he  came  out  of  his  reverie,  "  that  island 
is  called  St.  Helena." 


234 


THE  QUARTETTE 
tfc  4;  db  &  £  ir  4?ir^tfc^rtfcdb4rdbdb4?*  4:  tfc^b 

XVI 

ST.  HELENA,"  sighed  Edith,  whose  eyes  were 
wet  with  tears. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Sidney,  noting  with  interest 
the  effect  produced  on  Edith  by  the  magical  name. 

41  Oh !  what  a  dreadful  place,"  continued  Edith, 
clasping  her  hands. 

"  Dreadful,  indeed,"  cried  Sir  Arthur,  his  eyes  still 
fixed  upon  her. 

"  It  would  be  cruel  to  take  criminals  to  such  a  spot." 

"  Yet  they  have  transported  genius  there,"  said  Sir 
Benedict  Arundel,  taking  part  in  the  conversation. 

"  Shame  on  our  nation,"  went  on  Sidney,  as  if  to 
himself,  and  sunk  in  deep  thought;  "but  patience  —  " 

He  stopped  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  saying  too  much, 
then  resumed  his  impassible  look. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  ordered  Captain  Peppercull 
to  get  the  boat  ready,  and  returned  to  the  cabin  with 
Edith  and  Sir  Benedict  Arundel. 

Sidney  took  Edith's  hand,  and  in  the  presence  of 
Benedict  said  to  her  :  — 


235 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  You  have  given  me  the  right  to  make  use  of  your 
devotion  and  intelligence  in  carrying  out  my  end  ;  you 
promised  to  trust  me  blindly,  and  to  walk  with  closed 
eyes  on  the  road  in  which  I  shall  place  you,  even 
though  it  should  end  in  an  abyss." 

"  I  have  said  so ;  my  life  is  yours,"  answered  the 
young  woman. 

"Very  good,"  continued  Sir  Arthur;  "at  present, 
however,  I  do  not  mean  to  make  so  serious  a  demand 
upon  you.  The  time  has  come  for  you  to  leave  off  your 
sailor  dress ;  go  to  your  cabin,  in  which  I  have  had 
put  everything  you  will  need." 

Edith  rose  and  went  out. 

Sir  Arthur  Sidney,  left  alone  with  Benedict,  crossed 
his  arms  upon  his  breast,  as  if  to  keep  down  the  beat- 
ing of  his  heart ;  then  he  opened  them  to  his  friend 
and  said  to  him  :  — 

"  Brother,  in  case  we  never  again  meet  in  this  world, 
let  us  embrace." 

Benedict  advanced  towards  Sidney,  and  the  two 
friends  clasped  each  other  for  a  moment. 

"  When  everything  is  ready,"  said  Sidney,  drawing 
Benedict  to  the  port-hole,  "  vou  will  cut  down  that 
little  tree  which  twists  and  blows  in  the  wind  at  the 


236 


tl?  5*7    «r  4?       ^*  ^    tl?    «t?  Tt?  tfe  *h    ifc      ^    »|»  »|« 

THE  QUARTETTE 

top  of  that  black  rock ;  it  can  be  seen  a  long  distance 
at  sea.  I  am  going  to  Tristan  d'Acunha,  or  to  the 
African  coast,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Coanga  river,  it  is 
nearer,  to  build  the  boat.  It  will  take  me  two  months. 
During  these  two  months  the  1  Lovely  Jenny  '  will 
cruise  in  these  seas,  and  then  we  shall  strike  our  great 
blow." 

"  History  will  be  amazed  at  it,  and  never  —  " 

He  was  going  to  say  more  when  Edith  entered. 
Benedict  and  Sidney  remained  astounded  at  her  beauty ; 
her  man's  dress  had  until  then  prevented  both  the 
friends  —  absorbed,  the  one  by  a  great  thought,  the 
other  by  a  great  grief  —  from  noting  how  very  ador- 
able and  charming  Miss  Edith  was. 

The  time  that  had  elapsed  had,  if  not  appeased,  at 
least  softened  her  grief ;  the  only  traces  of  the  horrible 
catastrophe  were  the  delicate  pallor  of  her  cheeks,  and 
a  light  azure  tint  on  the  temples,  that  brought  out  the 
distinction  of  her  lovely  face  by  making  the  soul  within 
it  in  some  sort  visible. 

She  was  dressed  with  the  most  charming  simplicity  : 
a  gown  of  white  India  muslin,  dotted  with  little  sprays 
of  flowers,  set  off  her  young  and  supple  figure,  and  fell 
in  abundant  folds  over  her  hips ;   a  bonnet  of  fine 


237 


THE  QUARTETTE 

Manila  straw,  trimmed  with  rose-coloured  ribbons, 
framed  in  the  soft  oval  of  her  face ;  and  over  her 
shoulders  was  draped  a  China  shawl. 

As  she  caught  the  admiring  glances  of  Sidney  and 
Benedict,  Miss  Edith  felt  her  pale  cheeks  blush ;  the 
woman  was  being  re-born  in  her. 

"  You  are  lovely,"  Sidney  could  not  help  saying. 
"  Now  you  shall  leave  with  Benedict ;  you  shall  pass  for 
his  sister  or  his  wife.  I  think  his  wife  would  be  better, 
and  that  is  what  you  shall  be  called.  You  will  take  a 
house  in  Jamestown,  and  a  country-house  as  near  Long- 
wood  as  possible  ;  later  on  Benedict  will  tell  you  what 
you  have  to  do." 

"  I  shall  obey,"  replied  the  young  woman,  somewhat 
troubled  at  the  thought  of  passing  for  Benedict's  wife, 
and  living  alone  under  the  same  roof  with  a  young  and 
handsome  man. 

Then  with  the  humility  of  a  pure  soul,  ever  unjust 
to  itself,  she  said  to  herself  that  she  had  no  right  to  con- 
sider the  situation  equivocal,  and  that,  after  all,  Xavier's 
mistress  had  no  right  to  be  so  very  scrupulous. 

«  Come,"  said  Sidney,  taking  Edith  by  the  hands  and 
leading  her  to  Benedict,  "  it  is  time  for  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  to  go :  the  boat  is  ready  alongside." 

238 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Then  with  his  characteristically  serene  smile  he  said 
to  his  friend  :  — 

"  Confess  that  if  I  took  a  bride  from  you,  I  have 
given  you  back  one  who  is  no  less  beautiful." 

Benedict  turned  pale  at  this  embarrassing  remark,  but 
restrained  himself,  for  he  knew  that  nothing  was  farther 
from  Arthur's  thought  than  even  the  most  innocent  sar- 
casm ;  and  looking  at  Miss  Edith  he  could  not  help 
thinking  she  was  in  no  wise  inferior  to  Miss  Annabel 
Vyvyan. 

Edith,  without  being  quite  conscious  of  it,  felt  a  cer- 
tain pleasure  in  again  wearing  the  dress  of  her  sex. 
The  white  gown,  the  fine  straw  bonnet,  the  knots  of 
ribbon  brightened  her  in  spite  of  herself;  the  thought 
of  landing  was  pleasant.  A  long  sea  passage  is  so 
monotonous  that  even  the  most  arid  and  inhospitable 
place  is  to  be  preferred  to  that  of  a  ship ;  and  for  three 
months  past  Edith  had  seen  nothing  but  sky  and  water. 

When  she  found  herself  in  the  stern-sheets  of  the 
boat,  by  Sir  Benedict  Arundel's  side,  she  experienced  a 
sense  of  comfort  and  freedom,  and  a  brighter  expression 
illumined  her  lovely  face,  usually  so  melancholy. 

The  sea  was  fairly  smooth,  and  the  boat,  pulled  by 
six  vigorous  seamen,  drew  near  the  shore,  shot  alongside 


239 


4:  ££££££ 

THE  QUARTETTE 

the  landing-place,  and  Benedict  held  out  his  hand  to 
Edith  to  help  her  out.  Jack  and  Saunders  loaded  on 
the  shoulders  of  a  pair  of  copper-coloured  fellows  the 
boxes,  which  Sir  Arthur  had  filled  with  everything 
necessary  for  the  installation  of  the  young  couple. 

Saunders  soon  found  a  suitable  house  in  the  town,  and 
there  the  young  couple,  after  having  satisfied  the  author- 
ities by  the  exhibition  of  perfectly  regular  papers, 
provided  by  the  far-sighted  Sidney,  settled  down  under 
the  name  of  IVIr.  and  Mrs.  Smith. 

The  tale  told  by  Jack  was  that  Mrs.  Smith,  who  was 
going  to  India  with  her  husband,  to  visit  the  great  indigo 
estates  they  possessed  in  that  country,  had  been  so  tried 
by  the  sea  that  she  had  asked  to  rest,  for  a  month  or 
two,  on  the  nearest  habitable  land  met  with,  before  she 
resumed  a  voyage  from  which  she  suffered  so  much. 

That  very  evening  Sir  Arthur  Sidnev  set  sail,  and  the 
"Lovely  Jenny  "  soon  disappeared  in  the  blue  distance. 
Benedict,  leaning  at  the  window  of  his  new  dwelling, 
which  looked  out  on  the  sea,  followed  with  his  eyes  the 
vessel,  that  grew  smaller  and  smaller,  until  a  gull's  wing 
would  have  sufficed  to  conceal  it. 

The  house  inhabited  by  the  supposed  husband  and 
wife  was  exactly  like  a  Chelsea  or  Ramsgate  house, 


240 


THE  QUARTETTE 


thanks  to  the  obstinacy  peculiar  to  the  English  race, 
which  neither  distance  nor  climate  can  overcome.  The 
walls  were  of  that  yellow  brick  which  in  London  wor- 
ries the  stranger's  eyes;  and  the  internal  arrangements 
were  exactly  the  same  as  if  the  house  were  built  opposite 
Temple  Bar,  or  near  Trinity  Church.  The  only  con- 
cession  to  the  climate  consisted  of  a  striped  blue  awning, 
shading  the  entrance  door,  —  and  the  substitution  of 
Philippine  mattings  for  woollen  carpets. 

In  the  arid,  dry  garden  was  a  row  of  tamarisks,  the 
delicate,  verdigrised,  lace-like  leaves  of  which  trembled  at 
the  least  breath,  and  cast  a  slight  shade  upon  the  dusty 
sand,  in  which  languished  a  few  thirsty  flowers  cultivated 
by  a  Malay  gardener. 

Sir  Benedict  Arundel  and  Miss  Edith  felt  very  strange 
when  they  found  themselves  alone  at  table,  placed,  in 
conjugal  fashion,  opposite  each  other,  and  served  by  a 
silent  attendant.  This  sudden  intimacy,  springing  from 
their  supposed  marriage,  and  perfectly  natural  under 
those  circumstances,  amazed  and  frightened  them,  though 
possibly  it  also  unconsciously  pleased  them.  The  com- 
bination of  unusual  events,  which  had  brought  about  this 
impossible  situation,  had  probably  not  occurred  since 
the  earth  began  revolving  round  the  sun  ;  and  even  now, 

16  241 


*4*     *4*  »A»  »4»  »J-»  »i  *•     «X%  (J*  «4»  ^     ^     »4»  »^  »4»  »4»  #§»  *j« 

THE  QUARTETTE 

they  had  not  yet  fathomed  its  full  strangeness,  for  Arundel 
and  Miss  Edith  did  not  know  that  they  were,  the  one  a 
wifeless  husband,  the  other  a  husbandless  wife;  for 
Benedict,  drawn  away  by  Sidney,  had  not  entered  the 
church  of  St.  Margaret  ;  and  the  two  fair  brides  alone 
had  met  under  the  dark  porch. 

What  they  did  know  was  that  they  were  eight 
thousand  miles  from  home,  on  the  gloomy  island  of  St. 
Helena,  compelled  by  the  remorseless  working-out  of  a 
mysterious  scheme  to  live  day  and  night  under  the  same 
roof,  —  both  young,  handsome,  and  loveless. 

The  meal  over,  they  visited  the  house  more  carefully 
and  saw  that  there  was  but  a  single  bedroom.  Edith, 
with  her  English  modesty,  blushed  ;  Benedict  stopping 
on  the  threshold,  and  understanding  the  embarrassment 
of  his  supposed  wife,  said:  — 

"  I  shall  have  a  hammock  hung  up  for  myself  in  the 
upper  room." 

Edith,  reassured,  smiled  gently,  and  threw  her  scarf 
on  the  bed,  by  way  of  taking  possession. 

Then  they  went  down  into  the  garden,  where  they 
walked  up  and  down  the  long  tamarisk  walk,  with  the 
satisfaction  of  people  who  for  three  months  have  had 
their  walks  bounded  by  the  narrow  quarter-deck  of  a  ship. 


242 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Edith's  arm  rested  on  Arundel's,  for  she  stumbled, 
unaccustomed  as  she  now  was  to  walking  ;  and  certainly 
Annabel  and  Volmerange  would  have  been  amazed  at 
seeing  the  couple  traversing  the  solitary  walk  in  appar- 
ent conjugal  intimacy. 

A  few  days  thus  passed ;  Edith  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  consider  Benedict  as  a  brother  ;  on  his  part, 
Benedict  accepted  her  as  a  sister;  yet  a  greater  attraction 
than  they  were  aware  of  was  drawing  them  towards  each 
other. 

Spending  almost  the  whole  of  their  days  together,  they 
ended  by  confiding  in  each  other ;  Benedict  told  Edith 
of  his  love  for  Annabel,  and  the  way  she  had  been  sep- 
arated from  him  :  Edith  told  him  of  her  marriage  in  the 
sombre  church  of  St.  Margaret. 

"  What,  was  it  your  carriage  that  crossed  mine  before 
the  portal  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edith. 

"  What  a  strange  coincidence,  —  the  wedding  which 
everything  seemed  to  lead  up  to,  did  not  take  place  ; 
those  who  were  to  be  united,  were  separated,  and  those 
who  were  separated  are  united;  couples  are  made  and 
unmade  in  spite  of  choice  and  will.  We  who  are  not 
in  love  with  each  other,  for  our  hearts  are  given  away, 


243 


THE  QUARTETTE 

are  here  in  the  same  house,  alone,  free,  thousands  of 
miles  from  those  we  love  and  whom  we  shall  never 
again  see." 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Edith,  thoughtfully  ;  "fate 
has  indeed  strange  caprices." 

The  supposed  husband  and  wife  henceforth  had  one 
of  those  convenient  subjects  of  conversation  in  which 
a  growing  inclination  finds  a  way  of  making  indirect 
confessions,  which  may  be  confirmed  or  retracted  ac- 
cording to  whether  they  succeed  or  not.  Benedict 
spoke  of  Annabel  and  her  beauty,  in  words  which,  after 
all,  might  have  applied  to  Edith  equally  well ;  he  vented 
his  regrets  and  painted  his  passion  in  the  liveliest  man- 
ner, and  in  burning  language.  His  companion,  atten- 
tive and  deeply  interested,  listened  to  his  passionate 
eloquence  with  the  less  hesitation  that  it  was  not 
directly  intended  for  her. 

She  replied  to  it  by  protestations  of  love  for  Vol- 
merange,  whose  anger  she  acknowledged  having  justlv 
deserved,  for  not  having  been  entirely  frank  with  him. 
In  these  ambiguous  conversations  each  showed  his 
tenderness,  his  love,  his  capacity  for  devotion,  and  dis- 
played fearlessly  the  treasures  of  his  soul.  Under  the 
protection  of  the  names  of  Annabel  and  Volmerange, 


244 


THE  QUARTETTE 


they  indulged  in  subtle  amorous  metaphysics ;  theii 
passion,  unknown  to  themselves,  and  concealed  behind 
that  mask,  enjoyed  the  freedom  of  a  masked  ball. 
Little  by  little  Edith  was  taking  Annabel's  place,  and 
Benedict  that  of  Volmerange. 

It  should  be  said  for  them  that  they  were  not  con- 
scious of  the  change,  and  yielded  the  more  willingly  to 
the  charm  attracting  them  one  to  the  other,  because 
they  believed  it  perfectly  safe,  and  were  sure  they  could 
never  love  each  other.  If  Benedict  had  been  asked 
whether  he  loved  Annabel  as  much  as  ever  he  would 
have  replied,  "  Yes,"  with  heartfelt  sincerity  ;  and  had 
Edith  been  questioned,  she  would  also  have  sworn  that 
her  passion  for  Volmerange  was  in  no  wise  diminished. 

A  few  weeks  passed  by  with  magical  swiftness. 
Before  parting  at  night  they  would  shake  hands  in 
fraternal  fashion,  and  each  withdraw  to  his  room  with 
a  sigh  and  a  sort  of  indefinable  sadness.  Once  Bene- 
dict said  laughingly  to  Miss  Edith:  — 

"Mrs.  Smith,  I  claim  my  rights  as  a  husband;  I 
should  like  to  kiss  your  brow." 

The  young  woman  bent  forward  without  a  word, 
and  offered  her  head  submissively  to  Benedict's  lips ; 
the  kiss  lighted  half  upon  her  satin  brow,  half  upon  her 


245 


THE  QUARTETTE 

silky,  scented  hair.  Then  with  a  movement  like  a 
frightened  doe,  she  abruptly  returned  to  her  room  and 
closed  the  door. 

That  night  Benedict  did  not  sleep  well. 

Meanwhile,  however,  Sir  Arthur's  instructions  were 
being  literally  carried  out ;  a  country-house,  as  near 
over  the  dwelling  of  the  illustrious  prisoner  as  the  Eng- 
lish allowed,  had  been  rented,  and  the  pretended  Mrs. 
Smith  withdrew  to  it,  on  the  pretext  that  she  lacked  air 
in  the  narrow  confines  of  Jamestown. 

Benedict  remained  in  town  for  some  days,  apparently 
busy  with  commercial  affairs.  Edith,  accompanied  by 
a  mulatto  servant,  went  every  day,  at  the  same  hour, 
as  Benedict  had  told  her  to  do,  for  a  walk  which  took 
her  as  close  as  possible  to  Longwood. 

"  Especially  do  not  forget  to  carry  or  wear  in  your 
straw  bonnet,  a  bouquet  of  violets,"  Benedict  told  her 
as  he  left,  and  as  there  happened  to  be  a  bed  of  violets 
in  the  garden  of  the  country-house,  the  order  was  easily 
carried  out. 

For  several  days  Edith's  walk  proved  barren  of 
results;  the  prisoner,  ill  and  weaker,  did  not  come 
out. 

Impatient  to  learn  the  result  of  Edith's  perambula- 


246 


»b      sb  tb  db  tl?  tb  t£r  wbtl?d^tl?!l»tt?dbit?dbtl»tl?dbdb«lfdb 

THE  QUARTETTE 

tions,  and  perhaps  also  impelled  by  some  other  motive, 
Sir  Benedict  Arundel  had  joined  her  in  the  country- 
house,  and  every  time  she  returned  from  her  walk,  he 
questioned  her  eagerly,  but  the  reply  was  invariably  the 
same,  — 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  but  the  eagles  soaring  in  the 
air,  and  the  albatrosses  over  the  waters." 

Finally,  one  day  at  a  turn  in  the  road,  Edith  found 
herself  face  to  face  with  the  imperial  captive,  who 
seemed  to  walk  with  difficulty,  followed  at  a  distance 
by  his  trusted  companions,  and  guarded  from  afar  by 
red-coated  sentinels.  A  marble  pallor  covered  his  thin 
features,  which,  accentuated  by  grief,  had  resumed  the 
beautiful  lines  of  youth. 

He  looked  at  Edith  and  smiling  with  irresistible 
grace,  took  two  or  three  steps  towards  her  and  bowed. 
In  presence  of  the  fallen  god,  Edith,  who  might  per- 
haps have  preserved  her  self-possession  in  the  radiant 
light  surrounding  the  emperor,  was  troubled,  turned 
pale,  and  almost  fainted. 

The  hero  advanced  towards  her  and  said  to  her  in  a 
grave,  sombre  voice,  like  an  inhabitant  of  Olympus 
speaking  to  a  mortal, — 

«  Madam,  reassure  yourself." 


247 


THE  QUARTETTE 


And  noting  the  bouquet  of  violets  she  held  in  her 
hand, — 

"  It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  such  fresh  flowers." 

Mechanically  Edith  bowed  and  held  them  out  to  him. 

"  Their  scent  is  sweet,  but  less  sweet  than  that  of 
the  violets  of  France,"  said  Caesar,  handing  back  the 
flowers  to  the  young  woman,  after  having  breathed  in 
their  perfume.  Then  he  bowed  with  noble  majesty, 
and  resumed  his  way. 

Dazzled  by  this  imperial  vision,  Edith  returned  to  the 
country-house,  and  to  Benedict's  question  answered, — 

"  At  last  I  have  seen  him." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  repeat  it  word  for  word." 

"  He  said  the  scent  of  the  violets  was  sweet,  but 
less  sweet  than  that  of  the  violets  of  France.  That 
was  all." 

Benedict  turned  pale,  so  deeply  was  he  moved  by 
these  simple  words.  Without  making  any  reply  he 
took  a  telescope  and  an  axe,  and  started  for  the  rock 
on  which  the  tree  pointed  out  by  Sir  Arthur  Sidney 
showed  its  contorted  silhouette. 

He  scanned  the  ocean  with  his  glass.  An  almost  im- 
perceptible little  white  dot  —  was  it  a  gull  or  a  flake 
of  foam?  —  alone  broke  the  blue  solitude  of  ocean. 


248 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  It  is  well,"  said  Benedict. 

And  he  struck  the  trunk  of  the  tree  with  the  axe ; 
very  soon  he  had  cut  down  the  tree,  which  fell  from 
the  top  of  the  rock  into  the  sea,  with  a  dull,  lugubrious 
sound. 


249 


£  &  ~Jb  &  i:  &  &  &    &  i: rb   £  d:  db  &   *Jb  4:  & 


THE  QUARTETTE 

XVII 

AT  some  distance  from  Arungabad,  in  India,  at 
about  the  same  time  as  these  events  were 
happening  on  St.  Helena,  silent  shadows 
were  gliding,  on  a  moonless  night,  through  the  reeds 
and  the  jungle  on  the  banks  of  the  Godavari,  in  the 
direction  of  an  old,  half-ruined  pagoda,  formerly  dedi- 
cated to  Siva,  but  abandoned  since  the  English  con- 
quest. Nature,  emboldened  by  solitude,  was  reasserting 
its  rights  over  man's  handiwork;  the  dust  collected  ill 
the  hollows  of  the  carvings,  and  wetted  by  the  rains 
formed  a  loam  for  the  seeds  brought  by  the  winds; 
wall  plants  had  clung  with  their  tendrils,  their  roots, 
and  their  thorns ;  the  roots  of  the  shrubs,  forcing  them- 
selves into  the  cracks  of  the  stones,  had  slowly  separated 
the  blocks ;  mangroves,  favoured  by  the  damp,  multi- 
plied their  leafy  arches  around;  the  thick,  luxuriant, 
vigorous  vegetation  of  India  was  little  by  little  conceal- 
ing the  monument,  and  turning  the  pyramid  into  a 
hill. 


250 


THE  QUARTETTE 

Faintly  seen  through  the  darkness,  with  its  broken 
outlines  and  its  crest  of  brushwood,  the  ruined  pagoda 
had  a  formidable  and  monstrous  aspect.  The  temple 
of  the  god  of  destruction,  itself  destroyed,  spoke, 
silently,  with  sinister  eloquence. 

The  main  door,  closed  by  palisades  formed  of  boards, 
by  fallen  earth,  and  an  inextricable  interlacing  of  vege- 
tation, led  to  the  belief  that  the  building  was  deserted  ; 
yet  lights  occasionally  appeared,  moving  past  the  half- 
filled  openings,  and  indicated  that  something  was  going 
on  in  the  interior.  The  shadows  I  have  mentioned 
proceeded  towards  one  part  of  the  wall,  into  which 
they  crawled  and  vanished.  A  huge  stone,  which  had 
been  moved  out  of  its  place,  gave  ingress,  and  through 
secret  passages,  cut  within  the  thickness  of  the  walls, 
the  centre  of  the  pagoda  was  reached. 

At  the  end  of  a  vast  hall,  supported  by  squatty 
columns,  circled  by  granite  rings  and  wearing,  like 
women,  triple  ropes  of  carved  pearls,  the  capitals 
formed  of  four  elephant's-heads,  stood,  in  a  niche 
framed  in  by  a  rich  border  of  arabesques,  the  statue  of 
the  god  Siva,  —  a  very  old  idol,  rendered  still  more  terri- 
ble by  its  archaic  form.  It  breathed  anger  and  ven- 
geance ;  in  two  of  its  four  arms  it  held  a  whip  and  a 


251 


sb  db  i:  & 4:  tfc  & 4: 4: 4: 4:  -krh  db  *  4:  tfc  tfc  db  d:  db  tfc  d:  A 

THE  QUARTETTE 


trident,  and  a  collar  of  death's-heads  fell  upon  its 
breast;  by  its  side  Durga,  its  hideous  spouse,  rolled 
her  cross  eyes,  gnashed  her  hippopotamus  teeth,  and 
stretched  out  her  hands  provided  with  claws,  and 
while  twisting  her  body,  bound  with  serpents,  crushed 
the  monster  Mahishasura,  which  tried  to  enfold  her  in 
its  loathsome  clasp. 

Set  within  the  walls,  innumerable  horrible  figures, 
symbols  of  struggle  or  destruction,  grimaced  at  the 
spectator  ;  here  the  monstrous  Mana-Pralaya,  with  a 
beast's-head,  swallowing  a  whole  city  in  his  enormous 
mouth ;  there,  Arddha-Nari,  with  a  chaplet  of  skulls 
and  chains,  fiercely  brandishing  a  sword ;  elsewhere 
Maha-Kali,  holding  in  each  of  his  four  hands  a  head 
cut  off;  Mahadeva,  with  a  river  flowing  from  his 
brain,  and  bracelets  made  of  vipers,  was  struggling  with 
the  deformed  Tripurasura,  while  Garuda  beat  its  wings, 
and  sharpened  its  parrot-like  beak  and  its  eagle's-talons. 

This  was  all  that  could  be  made  out  by  the  light  of 
the  lamp  hanging  before  the  statue  of  Siva;  in  the 
depths  of  the  hall,  filled  with  ruddy  shadows,  the  eye 
could  only  make  out,  beyond  the  circle  of  light,  vague 
forms,  inexplicable  interlacings,  a  hideous  mingling  of 
legs,  dragon's-heads,  and  monsters  of  all  kinds. 


252 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Within  the  circle  of  light,  were  grouped  on  tiger  or 
gazelle  skins,  extraordinary  and  fantastic-looking  beings, 
whose  white  eyebrows  and  beards  brought  out  stiikingly 
their  dark  complexions.  The  Brahmin  cord  hanging 
around  their  necks  marked  their  caste  ;  some  of  the 
more  austere  wore  in  lieu  of  it  a  serpent's-skin  ;  all 
were  ascetically  lean,  —  through  their  open  tunics 
could  be  seen  their  dried  breasts,  with  their  ribs  pro- 
truding like  those  of  a  skeleton.  They  remained 
motionless,  muttering  prayers,  and  appeared  to  be 
awaiting,  with  Hindoo  phlegm,  some  important  person- 
age who  had  not  arrived. 

Behind  them  was  a  confused,  copper-coloured  crowd, 
the  first  rows  of  which  alone  were  visible  in  the  faint 
red  light  of  the  lamp ;  the  rest  were  speedily  lost  in  the 
shadows.  From  time  to  time  a  new-comer  disappeared 
silently  in  some  group. 

At  last  there  was  a  stir;  the  crowd  opened  up,  and 
soon  appeared  on  the  spot  where  the  light  of  the  lamp 
shone  most  brilliantly,  three  new-comers,  whose  arrival 
was  received  with  murmurs  of  satisfaction.  The  one 
was  an  old  Brahmin,  as  dried  up  and  yellow  as  a 
mummy,  with  inspired,  flaming  eyes,  wearing  a  muslin 
robe  down  to  his  heels.    The  second  was  a  young 


253 


THE  QUARTETTE 


girl,  as  beautiful  as  Sakountala  or  Vasatensena ;  a 
transparent  veil  half  concealed  her  rich  costume,  the 
embroideries  and  spangles  of  which  sparkled  through 
the  gauze ;  as  she  walked,  her  necklets,  her  bracelets 
and  anklets  rattled  with  metallic  sound.  The  third 
was  a  handsome  young  man,  fairer  than  the  girl,  whose 
eyes  were  peculiar  in  being  dark-blue  ;  he  wore  a 
Mahratta  warrior's  dress,  but  much  richer  and  more 
ornamented  ;  a  steel  coat-of-mail  protected  his  breast 
and  fell  to  the  bottom  of  his  yellow  tunic  ;  full  red 
trousers,  caught  at  the  ankles,  and  a  muslin  turban 
rolled  around  a  steel  helmet  completed  his  dress. 
He  wore  golden  bracelets,  a  curved  sabre  with  velvet 
sheath,  enriched  with  gold  and  precious  stones.  On 
his  left  arm  he  carried  a  buckler  of  hippopotamus- 
skin,  studded  with  metal  bosses  ;  in  his  right  hand  he 
held  a  long  musket,  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl  and 
silver. 

The  old  Brahmin  was,  as  the  reader  has  no  doubt 
guessed,  the  same  Daksha  whose  acquaintance  we  made 
in  London  ;  the  lady  was  unaccountably  like  Priyam- 
vada,  and  as  for  the  Mahratta  warrior,  his  features  and 
his  blue  eyes  proved  him,  in  spite  of  his  disguise,  to  be 
Volmerange,  the  European,  a  member  of  many  clubs 


254 


THE  QUARTETTE 


in  London,  a  descendant  of  the  kings  of  the  Lunar 
dynasty. 

Daksha  advanced  towards  the  three  leanest  and  most 
dried  up  Brahmins,  and  taking  Volmerange  by  the  hand, 
led  him  under  the  lamp,  the  light  of  which  formed  a 
sort  of  halo  around  his  head,  and  presented  him  to  the 
personages  who  appeared  to  be  the  most  prominent  in 
the  assembly. 

"  He  has  the  look  of  a  Pradjati,"  murmured  the  spec- 
tators, delighted  with  Volmerange's  fine  appearance ; 
"  he  looks  like  one  of  the  first  ten  creatures  that  issued 
from  the  hands  of  Brahma." 

Volmerange  was  indeed  very  handsome  in  his  singu- 
lar and  picturesque  costume. 

"  Sarngarava,  Saradouata,  and  you,  Canoua,"  said  the 
old  Brahmin,  "  I  have  brought  him  of  whom  I  spoke, 
the  descendant  of  the  Douchmantas  and  Barahtas.  He 
alone  —  so  the  gods,  touched  by  my  long  penance,  have 
revealed  to  me  —  he  alone  can  bring  back  the  former 
splendour  of  our  land ;  he  it  is  who  shall  drive  away 
the  coarse  barbarians,  —  Englishmen  who  profane  the 
waters  of  the  Ganges,  speak  to  pariahs,  prevent  widows 
from  burning  themselves  alive  as  decency  requires,  who 
make  their  belly  the  tool  of  their  life,  and — a  piece 


255 


THE  QUARTETTE 

of  monstrosity  that  calls  for  vengeance,  an  abominable 
impiety  —  who  dare  to  feed  on  the  sacred  flesh  of  the 
ox  and  the  cow." 

This  last  remark  caused  a  thrill  of  horror  to  run 
through  the  assembly  ;  the  Brahmins  raised  their  eyes 
to  the  ceiling,  and  a  low  muttering  of  imprecations 
sounded  in  the  dark  depths  of  the  pagoda.  The  gods 
of  granite,  partially  lighted  by  the  quivering  gleams 
of  the  lamp,  seemed  to  frown  and  move  on  their 
pedestals. 

"  Is  everything  ready  for  the  revolt  ?  "  asked  Daksha  ; 
"  are  the  weapons,  horses,  and  elephants  collected  ?  " 

"The  crypts  of  the  pagoda,  the  existence  of  which 
is  unknown  to  any  one  outside  our  sacred  college,  are 
filled  with  muskets,  lances,  and  arrows  ;  the  Mahratta 
chiefs,  who  are  not  as  well  tamed  as  the  European  bar- 
barians imagine,  have  furnished  us  with  horses  ;  fifty 
trained  war  elephants  with  their  howdahs,  camped  in 
the  centre  of  a  forest  impenetrable  to  any  who  are  not 
acquainted  with  its  recesses,  are  awaiting  the  signal," 
answered  Sarngarava ;  "  the  province  will  rise  like  one 
man." 

"  Oh !  venerable  Trimourti,  Vishnu,  Brahma,  and 
Siva,  thanks  be  to  thee  for  allowing  me  to  live  until 


256 


^fc'tlj'J?  Sf?  Si?  «4«  pjj  j|y  f|»  «4»  A  «1»  »|»  A  tf«  >j»  «!■»  jiy  ^t>  «|»  «^» 

THE  QUARTETTE 

this  day,  old  and  broken  though  I  am,"  said  Daksha, 
whose  withered  hands  shook  with  pleasure.  "  We 
shall  succeed,  I  am  certain  of  it ;  the  celestial  powers 
will  assist  our  enterprise ;  Brahma  reveals  the  future  to 
me ;  the  god  of  war,  in  his  last  avatar,  has  assumed  the 
human  form,  and  comes  to  our  help  from  the  West, 
riding  on  a  divine  eagle,  greater  and  stronger  than  the 
bird  Garuda,  which  holds  the  lightning  in  its  talons, 
and  with  its  iron  beak  slays  the  battalions  overthrown 
by  the  wind  of  its  wings ;  that  god  shall  shoot  seven 
arrows  at  the  English,  who  will  flee  terrified,  and  we 
shall  become  masters  of  the  seven  douipas,  of  which 
the  world  consists,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  holy  book  of 
the  Pouranas." 

This  curious  address,  delivered  with  an  accent  of 
deep  conviction,  produced  a  great  effect  upon  the  as- 
sembly. Priyamvada  in  particular,  was  delighted,  and 
thought  she  already  saw  arriving  the  marvellous  bird, 
bearing  the  hero  seated  upon  its  back. 

"  Barahta,  we  shall  set  thee  again  on  the  throne 
of  thy  ancestors,  "  said  Saradouata,  "  swear  to  fight 
with  us  to  your  last  breath,  and  if  you  are  success- 
ful to  stay  everywhere  the  slaying  of  the  sacred 
animals." 


7 


257 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  I  swear  it,"  replied  Volmerange,  in  Hindoostanee. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  Brahmin  Sarngarava.  "  And 
now,  people,  listen.  He  who  stands  before  you  is 
Barahta,  a  descendant  of  Douchmanta,  the  most  glorious 
and  most  famous  king,  the  conqueror  and  tamer,  who 
lived  familiarly  with  Aditi  and  Casyapa ;  devote  your- 
selves to  him,  follow  him  and  obey  him  to  the  death ; 
if  you  are  slain  while  carrying  out  his  orders,  you  will 
return  to  Pantchatouam, — you  will  return  into  the 
elements,  without  the  atoms  of  which  you  are  com- 
posed suffering ;  and  after  your  soul  has  been  purified 
in  lovely  bodies,  and  is  judged  worthy  of  Moucti,  it  will 
be  absorbed  in  the  Divinity.  Now  disperse,  and  be 
to-day  at  the  place  of  meeting." 

The  crowd  vanished  as  if  by  magic  ;  the  Brahmins 
re-entered  the  walls  through  the  secret  passages,  and  no 
one  was  left  in  the  hall  but  Daksha,  Priyamvada,  and 
Volmerange. 

"Would  you  prefer  to  spend  the  remaining  portion 
of  the  night  here,"  said  the  old  Brahmin  to  Volmerange, 
"  or  set  out  for  the  mountain  camp  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go,"  cried  Volmerange.  "  This  old  cave, 
with  its  grimacing  monsters,  is  not  comfortable.  Give 
me  your  hand,  Priyamvada,  for  the  devil  take  me  if 

2^8 


THE  QUARTETTE 

I  can  walk  without  stumbling  through  these  dark 
passages." 

After  having  groped  for  some  time  through  the  laby- 
rinth of  passages,  which  Priyamvada  and  the  old  Brah- 
min appeared  to  be  well  acquainted  with,  they  reached 
an  opening,  and  it  was  not  without  secret  satisfaction 
that  Volmerange  again  breathed  the  open  air.  The 
performance  which  had  just  taken  place,  so  full  of 
meaning  for  the  spectators,  so  ridiculous  in  his  opinion, 
had  wearied  him  ;  he  found  it  difficult  to  look  upon 
himself  seriously  as  a  prince  of  the  Lunar  dynasty,  and 
but  for  Priyamvada,  his  lovely  friend  with  the  golden 
complexion,  he  would  most  willingly  have  given  up  his 
throne. 

The  elephant  that  had  brought  the  trio  was  still 
waiting  patiently  under  guard  of  its  keeper,  plucking 
at  the  foliage  with  its  trunk  and  slowly  swallowing  the 
leaves,  rather  by  way  of  filling  up  the  time  than  be- 
cause it  was  hungry.  With  characteristic  intelligence, 
on  hearing  the  steps  of  its  master,  it  bent  its  pillar-like 
legs  and  knelt  down. 

Priyamvada  and  Daksha  climbed  to  the  shoulders  of 
the  colossal  animal  with  the  ease  of  people  accustomed 
to  that  kind  of  mount.    Volmerange  was  not  quite  so 


259 


±±-h"i:is  4: 4: 4:  4:4:4: -irtlrtlrsbtfcsb 4: 4:4:4: 4:4:4: 

THE  QUARTETTE 


skilful,  and  the  young  Hindoo  girl  had  to  hold  out  hei 
hand  to  help  him.  In  his  education  as  a  sportsman, 
which  had  been  very  thorough,  my  hero  had  not  given 
a  thought  to  this  kind  of  riding. 

The  keeper,  crouching  on  the  skull  of  the  huge 
animal,  drove  in  his  anker,  and  the  elephant  started 
off  at  a  rhythmic  trot  or  amble,  the  steadiness  of  which 
would  have  worn  down  the  fastest  running  horse. 
From  time  to  time  it  stretched  out  its  trunk,  and  broke 
a  creeper  or  branch  which  was  in  the  way,  or  if  the 
path  was  too  narrow  it  leaned  against  the  obstructing 
tree  and  broke  it  down ;  at  other  times  it  trampled 
over  the  bamboos,  that  broke  with  a  snap  or  bent  like 
grass. 

Priyamvada,  lying  in  the  howdah  placed  upon  the 
animal's  back,  had  fallen  asleep  on  Volmerange's 
breast ;  as  he  was  much  taller  than  she,  she  looked 
like  one  of  those  dainty  statues  of  goddesses  which  the 
gods  hold  in  their  arms :  like  Parvata  on  Mahadeva's 
bosom,  Lakshmi  on  Vishnu's,  and  Saravasti  on  Brah- 
ma's. Volmerange  remained  motionless  for  fear  of 
waking  the  lovely  girl,  and  gazed  upon  the  strange 
landscape  outspread  confusedly  before  him,  and  which 
assumed   in  the  darkness  most  weird   forms :  carob 


260 


THE  QUARTETTE 

trees,  fig  trees,  banyan  trees,  babobabs  as  old  as  crea- 
tion, mangroves,  and  palms  mingled  their  foliage, 
through  which,  as  on  a  black  spot,  suddenly  shone  a 
star  or  a  bit  of  the  night  sky. 

Seated  by  the  keeper,  Daksha  muttered  devoutly  a 
prayer  for  the  success  of  the  enterprise. 

After  two  hours  of  travel,  a  reddish  light  began  to 
gleam  between  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  indicating  the 
nearness  of  the  camp  where  the  first  mutineers  had 
already  collected.  The  sentries,  hearing  the  noise  of 
the  leaves  and  branches  displaced  by  the  elephant  bear- 
ing the  trio,  came  forward  to  reconnoitre,  and  Volme- 
range,  Daksha,  and  Priyamvada  entered  the  camp. 

The  sight  was  most  strange,  and  took  one  back  to 
the  days  of  the  wars  between  Darius  and  Alexander. 
A  great  fire  of  brushwood,  branches,  and  broken  trees, 
cast  a  fantastic  light  through  the  leafy  vaults  of  the 
forest.  Around  the  fire,  arranged  in  a  circle,  fifty 
elephants,  picturesquelv  lighted  from  below,  stood 
motionless,  grave,  and  pensive,  like  Ganesa,  the  god  of 
wisdom  ;  scarcely  from  time  to  time  did  their  great 
ears  move,  and  had  they  not  occasionally  lifted  up 
their  restless  trunks  as  they  scented  in  the  distance  a 
prowling  tiger  or  an  enemy  seeking  to  enter  the  wood, 


261 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

they  might  have  been  thought  carved  out  of  granite, 
like  their  stone  brethren  that  adorn  the  pagodas.  On 
their  backs  they  bore  howdahs,  and  their  tusks  were 
ribbed  with  iron  to  prevent  their  breaking  in  battle. 

Farther  off  were  the  Mahrattas  and  other  Hindoos, 
lying  by  their  horses,  and  their  weapons  hanging  near 
them  on  the  trees. 

Volmerange  and  his  two  friends  had  not  yet  de- 
scended from  their  tall  mount,  when  a  plaintive  cry 
was  heard,  immediately  succeeded  by  a  tremendous 
shout.  The  elephants  knelt  of  themselves  to  receive 
their  masters  ;  the  Mahrattas  sprang  to  their  horses  ; 
every  one  ran  to  his  weapons  —  taking  up  whatever 
came  first,  a  musket,  a  lance,  or  a  bow. 

Firing  broke  out  to  the  right  and  the  left ;  the  terri- 
fied outposts  were  driven  back  on  the  main  body,  and 
sepoys,  supported  by  red-coated  soldiers,  were  seen 
running  from  one  tree  to  another,  to  take  cover  and 
aim  in  safety.  The  elephants,  driven  by  their  keepers, 
dashed  forward  in  every  direction,  breaking  down  trees, 
and  trampling  under  foot  the  enemy  they  met.  The 
English,  for  it  was  they,  informed  by  a  traitor  of 
Daksha's  plans  and  the  meeting-place  of  the  mutineers, 
were  arriving  on  all  sides  and  surrounding  the  camp. 


262 


THE  QUARTETTE 


Soon  the  fight  became  concentrated  upon  the  space 
where  shone  the  great  fire,  and  the  centre  of  the  melee 
was  where  stood  Volmerange,  Daksha,  and  Priyamvada  ; 
by  the  fierceness  with  which  this  point  was  defended, 
the  assailants  understood  that  there  must  be  the  most 
important  personages.  Eight  or  ten  Mahrattas,  who 
had  climbed  on  top  of  Volmerange's  elephant,  kept  up 
a  continual  fire ;  Volmerange  himself,  helped  by  Pri- 
yamvada, who  loaded  his  musket,  shot  down  an  English- 
man every  time ;  his  valiant  steed,  taking  part  in  the 
combat,  uttered  furious  screams,  seizing  sometimes  a 
man,  sometimes  a  horse  in  his  trunk,  and  throwing 
him  into  the  air,  or  else,  bending  forward,  crushed  a 
whole  squad  of  the  enemy  against  the  wall  of  rock. 
Bullets  rattled  on  its  hide  like  hail,  without  other  result 
than  making  its  ears  bleed,  as  if  it  were  tormented  by 
flies.  As  for  Daksha,  he  held  in  his  hand  a  sprig  of 
the  sacred  plant  cousa,  which  he  kept  rubbing  between 
his  fingers,  while  murmuring  the  ineffable  syllable  cm. 
The  confusion  became  inexpressible;  muskets  exploded, 
arrows  hissed,  horses  neighed,  elephants  screamed  and 
trumpeted,  the  wounded  groaned,  and  the  smoke,  kept 
in  by  the  leafy  vault,  formed  a  heavy  pall  over  the 
combat. 


263 


THE  QUARTETTE 

A  group  of  Englishmen,  braver  and  more  resolute 
than  the  rest,  attempted  to  scale  Volmerange's  elephant, 
but  the  intelligent  animal,  backing  up  against  a  mon- 
strous babobab,  used  its  trunk  like  a  flail,  and  struck 
them  down  half  dead  from  the  horrible  blows  dealt  at 
their  heads;  those  who  escaped  the  trunk  fell  under 
the  bullets  of  Volmerange  and  the  Mahrattas. 

The  struggle  could  not  last  long.  Priyamvada,  who 
was  loading  Volmerange's  musket,  was  struck  in  the 
breast ;  she  did  not  utter  a  single  cry,  but  the  red 
foam  rising  to  her  lips,  marked  her  last  kiss  on  Vol- 
merange's hand,  which  she  took  and  had  just  strength 
to  bear  to  her  lips,  after  having  held  out  to  him  his 
second  loaded  musket.  Volmerange  fired  and  killed 
the  Englishman  who  had  shot  poor  Priyamvada. 
Three  of  the  five  Mahrattas  fighting  by  the  side  of 
Volmerange  and  Daksha  had  slipped  to  the  ground 
killed  or  mortally  wounded. 

His  ammunition  expended,  Volmerange  was  now 
hacking  with  his  sword  the  heads  of  the  regulars  and 
sepoys  who  clung  to  the  elephant's  ears  or  climbed 
upon  its  tusks  to  storm  the  howdah.  At  last  a  sepoy, 
crawling  on  the  ground,  got  behind  the  courageous 
animal,  and  with  a  sword  as  sharp-edged  as  a  Damascus 


264 


THE  QUARTETTE 

blade,  hamstrung  it ;  the  elephant,  falling  backwards, 
uttered  a  terrible  scream,  broke  the  sepoy's  back 
with  a  blow  of  his  tail,  tried  to  rise,  and  fell  upon  its 
side.  Priyamvada's  body  was  hurled  from  the  howdah 
on  to  the  heap  of  dead,  as  was  also  Daksha,  who  by  a 
miraculous  chance  had  escaped  unhurt.  Volmerange 
had  let  himself  slip  behind  a  tree,  the  branches  of 
which  he  used  to  break  his  fall  j  a  riderless  horse 
passing  by,  he  sprang  upon  his  back  and  drove  his 
heels  into  its  sides.  The  horse,  which  was  of  the 
Nedji  breed,  went  off  like  an  arrow. 

Daksha,  who  had  never  let  go  his  sprig  of  cousa, 
said  to  himself  as  he  resumed  his  former  attitude,  — 

"  The  business  failed  because  I  was  too  sensual ;  I 
should  have  put  five  iron  spikes,  instead  of  three,  into 
my  back ;  five  is  a  more  mysterious  number." 

The  elephant,  which  was  not  dead  although  it  had 
fallen,  sought  with  its  trunk  for  the  body  of  its  young 
mistress,  which  it  piously  replaced  on  the  velvet  how- 
dah, after  which  it  expired  ;  for  a  soldier  had  driven 
his  bayonet  into  its  brain  at  the  back  of  the  skull. 


265 


THE  QUARTETTE 

XVIII 

THE  small  white  dot  noted  by  Benedict,  that 
marked  with  imperceptible  silvern  fleck  the 
vast  green  mantle  of  ocean,  was  indeed  the 
"  Lovely  Jenny,"  keeping  its  appointment  with  com- 
mendable punctuality  ;  it  had  already  been  cruising  off" 
and  on  for  three  days,  within  range  of  the  island,  at 
such  a  distance  as  not  to  attract  attention,  though  not 
so  great  but  that  the  ship  could  be  made  out,  through  a 
strong  glass,  by  one  who  knew  of  its  being  near  St. 
Helena. 

Twenty  times  an  hour  Sir  Arthur  Sidney  would  go 
on  deck  and  look  through  his  telescope  towards  the 
black  rock  ;  the  thin  outline  of  the  stunted  tree  still 
showed  against  the  heavens. 

"  It  is  still  there,"  Sidney  would  reflect,  letting  fall 
the  glass  with  discouragement ;  but  a  few  minutes  later 
he  would  again  scour  the  horizon,  and  still  on  the 
summit  of  the  rock  the  silhouette  of  the  tree  showed 
steadily. 

266 


THE  QUARTETTE 

"Well,"  said  Sidney  to  himself,  "I  suppose  the 
password  could  not  be  exchanged,  and  my  undertaking, 
prosecuted  with  so  much  care  and  prudence,  will  fail 
at  the  moment  of  success  !  " 

Carried  away  with  feverish  impatience  he  strode  up 
and  down  the  quarter-deck,  climbed  the  forecastle,  and 
again  scanned  the  isle.  Now  the  crest  of  the  rock 
showed  angular  and  bare  against  the  bright  sky ;  the 
tree  had  vanished  ! 

This  simple  fact,  suddenly  answering  a  world  of 
ideas  and  projects,  moved  him  so  deeply  that  in  spite 
of  his  coolness  and  firmness,  he  was  obliged  to  lean 
against  the  rail ;  a  deadly  pallor  covered  his  handsome 
features :  but  he  soon  recovered  himself,  and  went 
down  firmly  into  his  cabin. 

There  he  wrote  on  a  piece  of  parchment  a  sort  of 
testament,  which  he  enclosed  in  a  strong  glass  bottle, 
which  he  sealed  with  a  leaden  cap;  he  then  enclosed  it 
in  the  canoe  which  he  had  had  constructed  on  the 
African  coast  by  a  ship's  carpenter,  from  the  small 
model  I  have  mentioned. 

When  night  fell  he  ordered  the  boat  to  be  launched ; 
Saunders  and  Jack  having  each  taken  an  oar,  and 
Sidney  the  yoke  lines,  the  craft  proceeded  towards  the 


267 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

island.  On  reaching  a  point  where  it  might  be  per- 
ceived, Sidney,  Saunders,  and  Jack  entered  the  low 
cabin  below  the  deck,  for  the  boat  was  of  very  peculiar 
construction  and  decked  over.  Having  carefully  closed 
the  hatch,  Sidney  touched  a  button,  and  the  boat  began 
to  sink,  until  the  water  closed  over  it  in  eddies.  Outer 
fins,  worked  from  within,  replaced  the  oars,  and  drove 
the  submarine  craft,  the  steersman  standing  behind 
plates  of  glass  placed  in  the  bows.  A  leather  tube 
ending  in  a  floating  buoy,  which  any  one  would  have 
mistaken  for  a  piece  of  wreckage  driven  by  the  waves, 
supplied  fresh  air  to  the  narrow  cabin ;  a  compart- 
ment which  could  be  filled  or  emptied  at  will  by  means 
of  a  pump  performed  the  function  of  an  air-bladder,  and 
enabled  the  boat  to  descend  or  to  keep  at  a  given  depth. 

When  Sidney  knew  by  the  darker  colour  of  the  sea, 
that  they  had  reached  the  shadows  cast  by  the  high 
cliffs  that  surround  the  island,  the  boat  rose  again  to 
the  surface,  and  as  it  was  half  submerged,  the  waves 
washing  over  it,  it  would  have  been  taken,  if  it  had 
been  noticed,  for  a  small  whale  or  a  shark  travelling 
close  to  the  surface. 

The  party  thus  reached  the  rock  at  the  foot  of 
which  the  waves  were  still  tossing  the  trunk  of  the 


268 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

tree  cut  down  by  Benedict,  carrying  it  away  and  throw- 
ing it  against  the  rocks  with  endless  play  of  foam  and 
spray. 

Sidney  emerged  carefully  from  the  hatchway,  and 
landing  on  a  narrow,  sandy  beach,  and  clinging  to  the 
asperities  of  the  rocks,  reached  a  platform  several  yards 
above  the  level  of  the  highest  waves,  where  he  sat 
down  and  listened  attentively. 

For  a  few  moments  he  heard  nothing  but  the  deep 
breathing  of  the  ocean  and  the  flapping  wings  of  the 
sea  birds,  troubled  by  the  presence  of  man  at  night  in 
that  solitary  waste.  Presently  some  pebbles  falling 
from  the  upper  portion  of  the  cliff,  rolled,  fell  down, 
and  shot  into  the  water. 

A  dark  form,  clinging  to  the  tufts  of  brush  that  grew 
here  and  there,  and  to  the  cracks  in  the  granite,  was 
descending  carefully  the  almost  vertical  cliff  and  ap- 
proaching Sidney. 

Although  the  meeting  had  been  agreed  upon  for  a 
long  time,  Sir  Arthur,  lest  there  should  have  occurred 
one  of  those  improbable  betrayals  that  always  happen 
in  such  enterprises,  cocked  two  small  pistols  in  his 
pockets ;  the  sharp  sound  caused  the  dark  form  to  stop 
in  its  progress. 


269 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"  Crabs  walk  backward,  but  they  reach  their  destina- 
tion," said  a  low,  but  distinct  voice. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  you,  Benedict,"  answered  Sir  Arthur  Sid- 
ney in  the  same  way. 

"  It  is  I,"  replied  Benedict,  sitting  down  by  Sidney's 
side. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  latter,  in  a  tone  full  of  questioning. 

"  On  seeing  the  bouquet  of  violets  he  spoke  the 
words  agreed  upon." 

"  It  is  well ;  now  we  shall  act." 

"  That  is  not  all :  that  very  evening  a  note,  written 
in  cipher,  of  which  you  and  I  alone  possess  the  key, 
was  thrown  by  an  unknown  hand  into  Edith's  chamber. 
The  note  contained  these  words  :  4  Cesar  is  too  ill  to 
risk  the  enterprise,  and  postpones  it  to  the  first  days  of 
next  month,  to  the  night  of  the  fourth  to  the  fifth.'  " 

"  Three  weeks  more  to  wait !  "  cried  Sir  Arthur  Sid- 
ney. "  Does  he  not  know  that  the  air  here  is  deadly, 
and  that  Prometheus  would  need  no  vulture  to  pick  out 
his  heart  ?  Are  you  sure  of  the  note  ?  We  are  so 
surrounded  with  traps." 

"  I  have  brought  it,  you  can  examine  it,"  said  Sir 
Benedict  Arundel,  holding  out  to  his  friend  a  paper 
folded  into  the  shape  of  a  square. 


270 


tl?  cir  "Jh  ttr       ^?  rJf?       tiS?ttrtfetJbsS?il?s£riiirdbtf?t!b  tj?  si?  A 
THE  QUARTETTE 

"Good-bye,  Benedict,  in  twenty  days  I  shall  be  back," 
said  Sidney ;  "  I  go  back  to  my  submarine  boat,  and  will 
cruise  off  and  on  with  the  '  Lovely  Jenny.'  In  twenty 
days  the  stain  which  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  has  made  on 
England's  name  shall  be  washed  away." 

Benedict  climbed  back  to  the  top  of  the  cliffs  ;  Sid- 
ney climbed  down  to  the  shore,  where  the  half  sub- 
merged boat  was  awaiting  him,  and  on  the  rock,  again 
deserted,  the  sea  continued  to  toy  with  the  tree  it  was 
tearing  to  pieces. 

On  the  appointed  day  the  "  Lovely  Jenny  "  re-ap- 
peared on  the  horizon,  but  the  heavens  were  dark  and 
threatening  ;  huge  black  clouds  were  spread  like  funeral 
draperies ;  the  ocean,  stirred  to  its  very  depths,  rose 
and  moaned,  and  the  wind  uttered  a  chant  of  desolation, 
like  an  invisible  chorus  ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  three 
thousand  Oceanides  had  come  to  mourn  the  Titan.  St. 
Helena,  amid  the  foam  that  smoked  around  it  as  tripods 
round  a  catafalque,  was  even  gloomier  than  usual ;  on 
its  brow  the  storm  had  set  a  sinister  diadem  of  light- 
ning. 

Already  signs  had  been  seen  in  the  heavens,  as  at 
the  death  of  Julius  Caesar  and  Jesus  Christ ;  a  bloody 
comet  had  dragged  its  tail  above  the  accursed  island, 


271 


THE  QUARTETTE 


and  the  clouds,  blazing  in  the  furnaces  of  the  West, 
had  assumed  the  form  of  great  eagles  flapping  their 
gigantic  wings  in  the  flames  ;  but  never  had  Nature,  so 
impassible,  appeared  so  moved,  so  terrified,  so  beside 
itself  as  on  that  night. 

The  ocean  hurled  to  heaven  its  bitter  tears,  the  sky 
wept  with  its  cataclysms,  and  the  gale  summed  up  in 
its  great  voice  the  despairing  cry  of  humanity.  In- 
trepid as  he  was,  Sir  Arthur  Sidney  felt  troubled  and 
discouraged  in  the  presence  of  the  formidable  sadness  of 
the  elements.  What  was  happening,  that  all  Nature 
thus  mourned  ?  What  great  soul  was  about  to  take 
flight,  bearing  away  with  it  the  wrath  of  the  world  ? 
What  God,  crying  on  his  cross  the  lama  sabachthani  of 
the  last  agony,  caused  this  vast  ululation  of  winds  and 
waves  ?  He  dreaded  the  answer,  and  as  he  entered  the 
boat,  pale  as  marble,  a  cold  sweat  ran  down  his  temples, 
his  teeth  chattered,  and  yet  it  was  not  physical  danger 
that  troubled  him. 

The  craft,  hermetically  closed,  sank  below  the  waves 
or  rose  on  their  crests,  and  advanced,  sometimes  plung- 
ing, sometimes  floating,  towards  the  rock  where  had 
taken  place  the  last  interview  between  Benedict  and 
Sidney.    An  open  boat  would  have  infallibly  been  sunk. 


272 


»A*  #JU  »4»      *L*  •A"  *A»  »1»  ^  «1«  »J»  »4«  ^»  »A.  »1»  »1»  rA»  »A«  »A»  ri^»  *fo 

THE  QUARTETTE 


It  was  difficult  to  avoid  being  smashed  against  the 
granite  cliffs,  and  to  land  exactly  at  the  little  sandy 
beach.  Sidney  and  his  two  sailors  made  the  most  pro- 
digious efforts.  The  air  was  beginning  to  fail,  in  spite 
of  the  supply  coming  through  the  tubes  ;  their  lungs 
were  swelling  in  their  breasts,  seeking  for  the  vital 
fluid ;  their  light  turned  dim,  and  Jack  and  Saunders 
were  pulling  at  the  fins  less  heartily,  while  Sidney  was 
pumping  hard  to  bring  the  boat  to  the  surface. 

The  waves  were  breaking  against  the  rocky  coast 
with  terrific  roar  and  thundering,  and  smashed  heavily 
against  the  sides  of  the  boat,  which  they  rolled  along 
their  crests. 

"  Well,"  said  Sidney  to  himself,  "we  are  lost ;  "  and 
he  looked  at  his  two  companions  in  the  dying  light  of 
the  lamp  ;  on  their  manly  faces  the  same  thought  was 
visible. 

"  Sir  Arthur,"  said  Jack,  U  it  is  very  unpleasant  to 
be  drowned  like  rats  in  a  trap,  but  what  can't  be  helped 
must  be  endured." 

Saunders  nodded  acquiescence. 

Sidney  raged  at  the  thought  that  they  were  about  to 
perish  so  wretchedly  because  of  a  stupid  tempest,  at  the 
very  moment  of  accomplishing  the  plan  for  which  he 
18  273 


db  db  db  db  d?  tb  db  d?  db  d?  d?  d?  d?  db  db  db  d?  d?  db  db  db  db  db  A 

THE  QUARTETTE 

had  sacrificed  everything;  there  occurred  in  him  one 
of  those  mad  revolts  of  mind  against  brutal  force,  of 
the  soul  against  the  elements,  and  he  uttered  in  his 
heart  a  blasphemy  such  as  the  giants  must  have  uttered 
when  smitten  by  the  thunderbolts. 

The  lamp  went  out.    Jack  and  Saunders  said  : — 

"  Good-night ;  lights  out !  " 

The  boat  struck  heavily.  Sidney,  springing  to  the 
hatchway,  gave  access  to  a  puff  of  air  mingled  with  sea- 
water.  The  keel  had  caught  in  the  sand,  and  as  a 
projecting  rock  broke  the  seas,  the  waters  were  less  tur- 
bulent here  than  elsewhere.  Sidney  managed  to  jump 
ashore  with  the  painter  and  made  the  boat  fast  to  a 
huge  fallen  block  of  granite.  Jack  and  Saunders  fol- 
lowed him,  and  the  three  men  climbed  up  to  the  high 
platform  where  Benedict  had  met  his  friend  on  his  last 
visit. 

There  they  were  safe  from  the  back-wash ;  the  tem- 
pest could  only  insult  them  with  its  foam.  They  re- 
mained for  two  hours  on  the  rock,  drenched,  dazzled 
by  the  lightning,  soaked  by  the  salt  spray  driven  by  the 
winds,  —  Jack  and  Saunders,  with  the  devoted  impassi- 
bility of  dogs  awaiting  their  masters'  orders;  Sir  Arthur 
Sidney,  nervous,  trembling,  almost   hysterical ;  every 


274 


&  db  rk  :b  is  db  db  4: 4: 4:  is  dbtfc  tfctfc  db  ifc  d?  db  db  *  A  A  A 

THE  QUARTETTE 


minute  seeming  an  age;  biting  his  lips,  tearing  his 
breast  with  his  nails,  as  he  tried  to  be  patient. 

The  night  wore  on,  the  gale  gradually  passed  away, 
the  weary  sea  was  running  less  heavily. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  ?  "  murmured  Sidney  ;  "  it 
will  soon  be  day." 

Indeed  the  dawn  now  shone  pale  along  the  lower 
sky,  and  then  the  bloody  sun  showed  above  the  heavy 
sea,  still  disturbed  by  the  night  gale,  its  orb  cut  by  the 
undulating  line  of  the  horizon.  In  the  distance  the 
"  Lovely  Jenny"  was  rising  and  falling  upon  the  wa\es. 

Day  had  come,  but  not  the  Emperor ! 


275 


THE  QUARTETTE 
£  db  4:  &  4: 4;  4: 4?  4: 4: 4: 4r^r  4:  sb  tb  4:  A  db  4: 4: 4:  :b  d: 

XIX 

WHY  does  not  Benedict  send  me  word  ?  What 
can  have  happened  ?  What  unexpected  ob- 
stacle has  caused  our  well-planned  scheme 
to  fail  ?  "  asked  Sir  Arthur  of  himself,  as  he  strode  up 
and  down  the  narrow  platform,  to  warm  his  limbs  chilled 
by  the  coolness  of  the  night.  "  To  live  so  long,  with 
but  one  thought,  one  hope ;  to  devote  one's  self  to  it 
absolutely,  with  the  most  complete  self-abnegation ;  to 
give  up  for  it  love,  family,  and  friendship;  to  sacrifice  to 
it  every  human  feeling  and  one's  own  genius ;  to  put  at 
its  service  a  mighty  and  inflexible  will  and  forces  that 
could  overturn  the  world,  —  then,  at  the  very  moment 
of  fulfilment,  to  be  stopped  by  some  idiotic  obstacle  : 
yesterday,  by  an  absurd  tempest ;  this  morning,  by  some 
foolish  incident  I  cannot  imagine,  —  a  key,  perhaps,  that 
would  not  turn  in  a  lock  ;  a  soldier  who  had  been  bribed 
and  who  feels  scruples  after  he  has  the  money,  and  wants 
to  be  paid  twice  over  ;  even  less  than  that,  it  may  be, 
for  no  one  can  foresee  the  innumerable,  stupid  resistances 
of  thoughts  to  ideas,  and  of  matter  to  mind." 


276 


THE  QUARTETTE 


While  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind, 
Sidney  was  gesticulating  wildly;  he  suddenly  stopped, 
crossed  his  arms  on  his  breast,  and  remained  for  a  few 
moments  sunk  in  deep  thought. 

"  Suppose  chance  has  a  will,  too  ?  Oh  ! "  he  went 
on  after  a  pause,  "  in  that  case  my  will  shall  break  the 
other  down." 

While  Sidney  was  indulging  in  these  thoughts, 
Jack  and  Saunders,  very  much  less  inclined  to  medi- 
tation, were  chewing  their  quid,  passing  it  now  into 
the  right  and  now  into  the  left  cheek,  and  gazing  at 
the  sea  with  the  attentive  though  apparently  careless 
glance  of  the  sailor,  who  cannot  help  watching,  even 
when  he  is  safe  on  land,  the  element  on  which  his  life 
depends. 

The  gale  had  fallen,  and  the  boat's  stern,  the  bows 
caught  in  the  sand  and  held  by  the  painter,  rose  and  fell 
softly  upon  the  lessening  heave. 

"  Come,  Saunders,  climb  that  rock,  and  stand  sentry 
up  there.  As  for  you  Jack,  get  into  the  boat  and  pump 
out  any  water  that  may  have  found  its  way  into  the 
cabin." 

The  two  sailors  started  to  carry  out  Sidney's  orders, 
—  the  one  climbed  up,  the  other  climbed  down. 

277 


THE  QUARTETTE 


At  first  glance,  the  notion  of  a  man  ascending  to  the 
top  of  the  cliffs  seemed  absurd  j  but  on  closer  examina- 
tion the  rock  proved  less  vertical  than  it  appeared ;  it 
sloped  here  and  there,  and  resting-places  seemed  to  have 
been  provided  by  Nature's  industrious  hands ;  at  the 
least  accessible  spots  shrubs,  brambles,  or  plants  offered 
a  hold  to  the  climber.  Saunders  therefore  quickly  got 
to  the  top,  but  the  country  was  deserted,  and  he  signed 
to  Sidney  that  he  could  make  out  nothing. 

Jack  soon  pumped  the  boat  dry,  for  in  spite  of  the 
heavy  tossing  of  the  night  before,  it  had  not  been  dam- 
aged ;  so  if  only  the  Emperor  came  nothing  was  yet 
lost. 

But  the  day  passed  without  any  one  appearing. 

It  is  impossible  to  express  Sidney's  sufferings  during 
those  long  hours  of  waiting.  Towards  midday  he  said 
to  himself:  — 

"  Yes,  it  will  come  off  to-night.  No  doubt  yester- 
day's gale  made  them  think  I  would  not  put  in ;  the 
wind  was  so  strong  and  the  sea  so  heavy.  That 
must  have  been  the  reason — I  was  a  fool  not  to 
have  thought  of  it  at  first ;  for  indeed  no  one  but 
a  madman  like  myself  would  venture  out  in  such 
weather." 


278 


THE  QUARTETTE 

This  notion  buoyed  him  up  until  evening,  and  he  even 
grew  calm  enough  to  eat  some  biscuit  and  drink  some 
rum,  which  Jack  brought  from  the  boat. 

Saunders  had  seen  nothing  from  his  observatory. 
The  "  Lovely  Jenny,"  troubled  at  not  seeing  the  boat 
return,  had  drawn  closer  to  the  island  than  prudence 
dictated,  and  was  tacking  off  and  on  and  signalling. 

"  Although  I  am  a  prey  to  the  deepest  anxiety," 
thought  Sidney,  "  Benedict  was  right  not  to  come  and 
inform  me  of  the  cause  of  the  delay ;  his  going  and 
coming  might  have  excited  suspicion  ;  they  keep  so 
strict  watch  on  this  accursed  island  that  the  least  impru- 
dence might  have  been  fatal  on  this  supreme  occasion." 

Thus  did  Sidney  pass  the  day,  in  alternations  of  hope 
and  despair,  and  in  such  lively  anxiety  that  the  hair  on 
his  temples  turned  white.  Evening  came  on,  and  the 
sun  sank  gradually  on  the  other  side  of  the  sea,  after 
having  plunged  through  several  banks  of  clouds,  as  a 
shell  bursts  through  the  floors  of  a  building ;  the  bloody 
reflection  was  prolonged  over  the  luminous  waves,  then 
died  out,  and  night  fell  with  the  rapidity  peculiar  to 
tropical  regions. 

The  hours  of  darkness  seemed  to  Sidney  longer  than 
endless  eternities,  and  I  cannot  attempt  to  depict  the 

279 


THE  QUARTETTE 

night  he  spent ;  expectation,  uneasiness,  rage,  despair, 
and  the  wildest  suppositions,  struggled  in  the  mind  of  the 
unfortunate  man  until  dawn  returned. 

A  thought  suddenly  struck  Sidney,  and  chilled  him  as 
if  a  steel  blade  had  been  driven  into  his  heart :  Could 
the  emperor  have  mistrusted  him  ? 

"Of  course;  I  am  an  Englishman,"  he  went  on 
with  a  bitter  laugh  that  was  almost  maniacal.  11  Or 
can  he  be  worse  ?  " 

Utterly  careless  of  safety,  at  the  repeated  risk  of  fall- 
ing into  the  sea,  using  his  hands  and  feet,  clinging  to  the 
projections  and  shrubs,  driving  his  nails  into  the  smooth 
wall,  —  he  reached  in  a  few  moments  the  top  of  the 
cliffs,  and  started  to  run  in  the  direction  of  Longwood. 

The  environs  of  the  residence  presented  .an  unwonted 
aspect ;  the  gale  of  the  night  before  had  uprooted  all  the 
trees,  which  lay  with  soiled  leaves,  their  roots  in  the  air; 
a  feeling  of  sombreness,  solemnity,  and  irreparable  mis- 
fortune weighed  down  upon  the  humble  dwelling,  in  and 
around  which  there  were  evidences  of  discreet  activity 
and  silent  agitation.  The  sentinels,  leaning  on  their 
muskets,  no  longer  challenged,  and  seemed  to  have 
relaxed  their  watchfulness ;  remaining  motionless  in  their 
places  they  carelessly  fulfilled  a  useless  duty,  rather 


280 


THE  QUARTETTE 

through  obedience  to  military  orders  than  through  neces- 
sity. The  officers  who  passed  did  not  reproach  them 
with  their  negligence.  The  residents  of  the  island  went 
and  came  without  being  stopped,  and  Sidney  crossed  the 
line  of  guards  without  any  one  paying  attention  to  him. 

He  approached  Longwood ;  men  and  women,  sus- 
pending their  steps,  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  with  an  air 
of  constraint,  entered  the  house  and  came  out  in  a  few 
minutes  paler  than  before,  their  eyes  red. 

Sir  Arthur  Sidney,  his  heart  filled  with  a  dreadful  pre- 
sentiment, his  limbs  giving  way  under  him,  leaning 
against  the  wall,  stumbling,  intoxicated  by  grief,  followed 
the  crowd  without  quite  knowing  what  he  was  doing. 

But  he  had  not  gone  many  steps  before  a  sorrowful 
spectacle  of  majesty  presented  itself  to  his  eye.  Lying 
in  his  war  mantle,  rather  like  a  soldier  resting  before  the 
next  day's  victory  than  like  a  body  which  life  has  left, 
Napoleon,  stretched  upon  his  state  bed,  wearing  the  uni- 
form of  the  Light  Infantry  of  the  Guard,  his  breast 
covered  with  orders  and  brilliant  stars,  his  trusty  sword 
by  his  side  like  a  faithful  friend, —  was  dreaming  his 
first  dream  of  eternity.  A  strange  expression  of  seren- 
ity and  deliverance  illumined  his  pale,  marble-like  face, 
which  the  convulsions  of  agony  had  respected  ;  every- 


281 


***  £  ±  *  *  -k  ±  ± 

THE  QUARTETTE 

thing  which  the  intoxication  of  triumph,  the  pain  of 
reverses,  the  fatiguing  thoughts  of  suffering  can  leave 
in  the  way  of  material  traces  upon  the  human  face, 
had  vanished.  It  was  no  longer  the  body  of  a  man, 
but  the  statue  of  a  god ;  death  allowed  the  celestial 
portion  to  show  through  the  terrestrial ;  the  dungeon 
was  transformed  into  a  tomb,  the  funeral  chamber 
into  an  Olympus.  Neither  Christ  on  his  cross  nor 
Prometheus  on  his  rock  had  a  nobler  or  handsomer 
face. 

Oh  !  great,  imperial  soul,  what  did  you  behold  during 
your  first  hours  of  immortality  ?  Who  dared  to  meet 
you,  to  lead  you  to  God  ?  Alexander,  Charlemagne, 
Julius  Caesar,  your  well-beloved  Lannes,  who  called 
upon  you  alone  as  he  died,  —  or  your  dear  Duroc  ? 
Or  was  it  some  poor  grenadier  of  your  Old  Guard, 
who  thought  his  blood  well  shed  when  he  found  that 
you  remembered  his  name  ? 

At  the  sight  of  dead  Napoleon,  Sidney  turned  faint ; 
the  pinions  of  vertigo  flapped  noisily  within  his  brain  ; 
he  staggered  forward,  and  falling  upon  his  knees  by  the 
bedside,  kissed  the  icy  hand  that  had  held  the  sceptre 
of  the  world.  He  was  not  interfered  with,  for  kisses 
bring  no  one  back  to  life  ;  only,  as  he  remained  some- 


282 


THE  QUARTETTE 

what  too  long  sunk  in  his  grief,  he  was  urged  with  a 
musket-butt  to  give  way  to  others. 

He  went  out,  wan,  broken  down,  scarcely  able  to 
drag  himself,  —  more  like  a  phantom  than  a  man, 
having  aged  a  score  of  years  in  one  minute ;  his  hag- 
gard, lack-lustre  eyes  wandering  around  or  sometimes 
resting  upon  some  insignificant  object  with  puerile 
obstinacy.  He  was  amazed  to  find  himself  alive  now 
that  the  Emperor  was  dead ;  he  wondered  that  the  sun 
still  shone,  that  the  mountains  had  not  changed  their 
shapes,  that  Nature  went  on  with  its  work.  As  for 
himself,  he  was  weak,  as  after  a  long  illness ;  the  light 
dazzled  him ;  the  air  was  too  strong  for  him  ;  his 
faculties,  so  long  kept  on  a  stretch,  suddenly  failed  him  ; 
his  firm,  powerful  will  had  lost  its  bearings  and  went 
around  like  a  crazy  needle;  a  tremendous  crash  had 
occurred  in  him. 

His  body,  moved  by  a  distant  remembrance,  took 

him  to  Edith's  country-house;  he  pushed  the  garden 

gate,  entered  the  parlour,  and  sank  on  a  chair  without 

a  word.    Edith,  whose  pallor  was  made  the  greater  by 

the  black  dress  she  wore,  advanced  silently  towards 

him  and  took  his  hand.    This  mark  of  sympathy 

caused  Sidney's  tears,  which  sought  to  flow,  to  rush 
__ 


db i:  4:4:  4:  4:  tfcdb  4:4:4:4:4? 

 THE  QUARTETTE  

forth  impetuously  through  the  hand  with  which  he  had 
covered  his  eyes. 

At  this  moment  Benedict  entered,  and  explained  to 
Sidney  why  he  had  failed  to  be  at  the  meeting-place  : 
he  had  been  questioned  and  detained,  his  movements 
having  excited  suspicion ;  the  Emperor's  death  and 
lack  of  proof  had  caused  him  to  be  at  once  released. 
But  Sidney  did  not  listen,  for  explanations  had  no 
meaning  for  him  henceforth. 

He  remained  a  few  days  longer  on  the  island,  seek- 
ing to  satisfy  his  grief  to  the  utmost ;  he  followed  the 
funeral  procession  into  the  Valley  of  Fermain,  into 
which  falls  from  Diana's  Peak  the  brook  the  Emperor 
loved,  and  where  weep  the  willows  whose  sacr-ed  leaves 
have  since  been  scattered  over  the  universe.  He 
watched  the  English  soldiers  bear  away  the  coffin  on 
their  shoulders ;  saw  it  lowered  into  the  stone  tomb, 
and  withdrew  only  when  the  black  opening  was  closed 
by  the  long  and  narrow  stone.  He  wanted,  by  taking 
in  carefully  all  these  details  of  the  funeral,  to  persuade 
himself  that  his  misfortune  was  real ;  he  feared  lest 
later  he  should  believe  that  the  Emperor  was  not  dead  ; 
he  already  felt  that  illusion  arising  in  his  mind,  although 
he  had  beheld  Napoleon  dead  on  his  state  bed,  and  had 


284 


THE  QUARTETTE 

touched  his  icy  cold  hand  ;  he  meant  to  have  a  recol- 
lection of  the  funeral  and  tomb  to  oppose  to  his  own 
fancies. 

As  he  climbed  the  hill  towards  Hutsgate,  he  turned 
around  a  last  time,  to  look  at  the  new  white  stone 
under  the  soft  shade  of  the  willows,  and  said  :  — 

"  My  soul  is  buried  with  that  body." 

At  that  moment  a  man  dressed  in  mourning,  and 
speaking  English  with  a  French  accent,  held  out  a 
paper  to  Sidney,  and  said  :  — 

"Take  this  from  him  who  is  gone." 

Sidney  opened  the  envelope,  sealed  with  black  wax ; 
it  contained  a  small  lock  of  fine  silk  hair,  and  a  note 
on  which  were  written  these  words:  — 

"  Console  yourself,  no  one  can  prevail  against  God. 

»  N." 

When  Sidney  looked  up  the  man  who  had  handed 
him  the  paper  had  vanished. 

So  he  sat  down  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  and 
sank  into  a  deep  reverie.  When  he  arose  his  fea- 
tures had  become  more  calm ;  a  change  had  come 
over  him ;  he  returned  to  Benedict's  house,  and  said 
to  him :  — 

"  Forgive  me  for  having  turned  you  away  from  hap- 


285 


THE  QUARTETTE 


piness,  in  order  to  make  you  a  partner  in  my  mad 
attempt.    I  free  you  from  your  oath." 

And  he  drew  from  his  pocket-book  the  yellowed 
paper,  which  he  tore  and  cast  at  Benedict's  feet. 

"Return  to  Europe;  you  are  free;  nothing  now 
binds  you  longer  to  our  mysterious  association  ;  follow 
the  inclination  of  your  heart,  be  happy  ;  do  not  seek  to 
alter  the  book  of  Fate, —  other  hands  than  ours  hold 
the  threads  of  events,  and  perhaps  what  seems  to  us 
unjust  is  supreme  equity.  As  for  me,  the  car  of  my 
life  has  been  thrown  out  of  its  rut,  and  cannot  get 
back  into  it ;  I  was  fit  for  one  thing  only  ;  that  thing 
has  failed;  it  is  all  over;  and  whether  I  am  buried 
to-day,  the  day  after  to-morrow,  or  later,  is  no  matter 
—  I  am  dead.  Thought,  feeling,  and  will  have  fled 
and  vanished.  And  you,  my  dear  Edith,  do  you  try  to 
find  some  reason  for  living  —  it  may  be  you  have 
already  done  so." 

As  he  said  this,  Sir  Arthur  Sidney  looked  steadily  at 
Edith,  who  could  not  help  blushing. 

"Love  some  one,  a  man,  a  child,  a  dog,  a  flower, 
but  never  an  idea,  —  that  is  dangerous." 

Having  spoken  these  words,  Sidney  shook  hands 
with  his  friends,  and  returned  to  the  black  rock  where 


286 


THE  QUARTETTE 

Saunders  and  Jack,  who  had  used  up  their  tobacco, 
were  beginning  to  feel  very  weary. 

Arundel  and  Miss  Edith,  left  alone  on  the  island, 
did  not  hasten  their  departure  as  might  at  first  have 
been  thought  they  would  do,  although  St.  Helena  is  a 
pretty  lonely  place.  Edith,  thrown  into  the  sea  by  her 
husband,  was  in  no  hurry  to  return  to  Europe;  Bene- 
dict, although  he  claimed  and  believed  himself  to  be 
still  deeply  in  love  with  Annabel,  was  in  no  wise 
weary  of  life  in  the  cottage,  which  a  city  merchant 
would  have  declared  uncomfortable,  but  which  was 
illumined  by  Edith's  presence.  The  young  woman  on 
her  part,  was  astonished  to  find  she  thought  so  little 
of  Volmerange  ;  and  the  pair  of  them  made  incredible 
efforts  to  retain  within  their  hearts  the  love  which  was 
escaping. 

Already  Benedict  could  not  find  in  his  memory  the 
lovely  features  of  his  beauteous  bride ;  Edith's  always 
mingled  with  them  ;  sometimes  a  sweet,  veiled  glance, 
sometimes  a  tender  and  melancholy  smile ;  the  two 
faces  melted  one  into  the  other.  Edith  was  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  position  ;  when  in  her  thoughts  she 
called  up  Volmerange,  it  was  very  often  Benedict  who 
appeared, — indeed  after  some  time,  Volmerange  did 


287 


THE  QUARTETTE 

not  come,  and  Edith  began  to  think  that  a  man  who 
drowned  his  wife  so  summarily  was  not,  perhaps,  an 
ideal  husband. 

Naturally  the  two  young  people  insisted  on  anticipat- 
ing uncommon  happiness  on  their  return  to  London, 
when  Benedict  might  at  last  marry  Annabel,  and 
Edith,  sufficiently  punished,  would  be  reconciled  to 
her  terrible  husband. 

Usually  these  conversations  began  gaily,  but  they 
generally  ended  in  a  somewhat  melancholy  mood. 
Benedict  did  not  like  the  idea  of  Edith  returning  to 
Volmerange,  and  Edith  was  not  greatly  delighted  at 
the  thought  of  the  happiness  which  awaited  her  friend 
with  Miss  Vyvyan.  Such  were  the  thoughts  which 
filled  the  minds  of  the  young  couple  in  St.  Helena, 
while  a  few  yards  from  the  house  the  weeping  willow 
drooped  its  leaves  over  the  greatest  tomb  in  the  world, 
—  if  there  be  any  difference  between  tombs. 

Their  own  tender  feelings  occupied  them  much 
more  than  the  effect  of  Napoleon's  death  upon  the 
destinies  of  the  world ;  even  when  at  night  they  went 
to  Fermain  Valley  to  contemplate  the  Titan's  tomb,  to 
listen  to  the  brook  murmuring  past  the  corner  of  the 
funeral  stone,  and  to  watch  the  wind  whirl  away  the 


288 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

pale  leaves  of  the  melancholy  tree,  —  they  were  thinking 
of  themselves. 

A  curl  of  hair  falling  upon  Edith's  neck,  brought 
out  with  its  rich  brown  colour  the  pale  rosy  cheek, 
and  drew  Benedict  away  from  the  great  thoughts 
which  the  tomb  of  the  most  illustrious  of  captains 
ought  to  have  inspired,  while  his  admiring  glance 
promptly  dried  in  Edith's  lovely  eyes  the  tears  that 
sprang  to  them  at  the  remembrance  of  the  great 
captive. 

They  at  first  thought  of  writing  to  Europe,  to  inform 
their  friends  of  their  return,  but  they  thought  better  of 
it  and  agreed  it  was  wiser  to  come  unexpectedly  into 
the  midst  of  the  general  grief ;  it  would  be  a  pleasant 
philosophical  experiment.  They  would  be  able  to 
judge  for  themselves  of  the  depth  and  the  sincerity  of 
the  regrets  they  had  excited  ;  they  would  see  for  them- 
selves whether  the  places  they  had  left  empty  had  been 
filled,  and  whether  faith  had  been  kept  in  Europe  as  in 
Africa.  Annabel  must  certainly  be  in  tears,  Volme- 
range  devoured  by  remorse.  But  suppose  it  should  not 
be  so  ?  Suppose  Miss  Vyvyan,  indignant  at  Benedict's 
inexplicable  disappearance,  had  taken  back  her  heart  ? 
Suppose  Volmerange  did  not  feel  the  least  regret  at 


19 


289 


THE  QUARTETTE 


having  thrown  his  wife  into  the  Thames?  —  what 
would  they  do  in  that  case  ?  Our  two  innocent 
hypocrites  dared  not  confess,  even  to  themselves,  that 
they  would  be  delighted  if  that  were  the  case,  and 
that  the  proper  thing  under  those  circumstances  would 
be  to  go  on  loving  each  other,  as  they  had  been  doing 
secretly  for  the  last  two  months. 

They  allowed  one  or  two  vessels  proceeding  from 
Calcutta  to  London  to  pass  by,  and  at  last  made  up 
their  minds  to  board  the  third,  —  a  swift  sailing-vessel, 
built  of  teak,  copper-fastened  and  copper-bottomed,  — 
which  took  them  in  six  weeks  to  Cadiz,  whence  they 
continued  their  trip  by  land,  visiting  Andalusia,  Seville, 
Granada,  Cordova,  —  still  under  the  convenient  appel- 
lation of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith.  Everybody  thought 
they  were  married ;  some  gossip-mongers  saying  they 
were  two  young  lovers  enjoying  their  honeymoon. 
Their  pillows  alone  knew  the  truth  ;  they  were  madly 
in  love,  but  the  angel  of  modesty  might  have  been 
present  at  every  moment  of  their  life.  Only  they  did 
not  hasten  back,  and  what  with  visiting  mosques  and 
cathedrals,  Alcazars,  palaces,  going  to  tertulias  and  bull- 
fights, —  it  took  them  some  four  months  to  traverse 
Spain  ;  so  that  they  reached  Paris  just  in  time  for  the 


290 


THE  QUARTETTE 

winter  season.  Finally,  when  they  had  no  longer  anv 
decent  pretext  to  delay,  as  they  were  exceedingly  con- 
scientious, they  remarked  to  each  other  one  evening:  — 
"  Is  it  not  time  to  go  back  to  London,  and  to  see 
whether  we  are  loved  and  forgiven,  or  replaced  and 
cursed  ? " 

The  thought  of  meeting  again  those  whom  they  pre- 
tended they  loved  best  in  the  world,  made  them  so  sad 
that  they  felt  ready  to  burst  into  tears,  and  to  fall  into 
each  other's  arms,  never  again  to  separate.  But  the 
situation  was  becoming  embarrassing :  Sir  Benedict 
Arundel  could  not  go  on  calling  himself  Mr.  Smith, 
nor  Ladv  Edith  Harlev,  Countess  of  Volmerange,  Mrs. 
Smith,  which  is  a  very  prosaic  and  commonplace  name. 
So  the  next  morning  they  called  for  post  horses  for 
Calais,  and  a  few  hours  later  were  awaiting  the 
departure  of  the  steamer. 


291 


THE  QUARTETTE 

XX 

THE    horse    caught    by   Volmerange    was  a 
thorough-bred,  swift  as  the  wind ;  in  a  few 
minutes  it  carried  its  rider  beyond  the  centre 
of  the  battle,  or  rather  of  the  massacre,  for  it  was  now 
only  a  confused  battling  of  elephants,  horses,  and  men. 
The  rout  was  complete. 

For  some  time  Volmerange  heard  the  elephants 
trumpeting  in  the  distance,  and  saw  on  the  ground,  red 
with  the  reflection  of  the  burning  wood,  the  shadow  of 
his  horse,  galloping  before  him  like  a  strange,  mon- 
strous form  he  was  pursuing  ;  the  horse  itself,  maddened 
by  the  deformed  shape,  sprang  furiously  forward,  and 
bent  down  to  bite  at  it. 

Little  by  little  the  fleeing  men  who,  during  the  first 
part  of  Volmerange's  mad  rush,  had  been  galloping  by 
his  side,  were  left  behind  ;  the  screams  of  the  elephants 
had  ceased  to  be  heard,  and  the  night  had  resumed  its 
blue  tint.  Volmerange  still  galloped  at  top  speed  along 
the  banks  of  the  Godavari,  his  horse  with  marvellous 


292 


THE  QUARTETTE 


instinct  avoiding  the  pitfalls,  jumping  fallen  trees,  and 
swerving  from  quagmires  without  ever  diminishing  its 
speed  in  the  least. 

When  Volmerange  had  ridden  some  twenty-five  or 
thirty  miles  from  the  battle-field,  he  pulled  in  his  horse, 
and  guided  by  a  light  which  twinkled  on  the  river  bank, 
reached  the  hut  of  a  fisherman,  busy  mending  his  net, 
who  prostrated  himself  before  him  after  having  helped 
him  to  dismount. 

The  Count  sat  down  against  the  wall  of  the  hut  on 
a  bench  covered  with  saptaparna,  and  speaking  to  the 
fisherman  in  Hindoostanee  asked  him  if  he  could  pro- 
cure for  him  other  clothes,  and  a  boat  in  which  he 
might  descend  the  river. 

"  I  can  do  so,"  answered  the  fisherman,  who  had 
recognized  his  rank  by  his  insignia,  "but  your  lordship 
may  not  care  to  put  on  the  humble  dress  of  a  poor 
Hindoo  of  the  lowest  class,  a  wretched  soudra,  who  is 
not  worthy  of  pressing  with  his  brow  the  dust  on  your 
lordship's  road." 

"  The  meaner  the  dress,  the  more  suitable  it  will  be," 
said  Volmerange,  entering  the  hut. 

Helped  by  the  fisherman,  he  threw  off"  his  warrior's 
dress  and  put  on  the  humble  garments,  under  which  it 


293 


THE  QUARTETTE 

would  have  been  difficult  to  recognize  the  leader  of  the 
insurrection.  The  fisherman,  for  greater  safety,  ad- 
vised him  to  stain  his  face  and  hands  with  the  juice  of 
the  colocynth,  as  his  comparatively  fair  complexion 
might  betray  him. 

Having  taken  these  precautions,  the  fisherman  cast 
loose  his  boat,  and  the  horse,  that  had  come  down 
to  the  river  bank,  seeing  that  its  services  were  no 
longer  needed,  dashed  off",  after  noisily  breathing  in 
the  air,  towards  the  hill,  where,  no  doubt,  lay  his 
pasturage. 

I  shall  not  follow  Volmerange  day  by  day  during  the 
course  of  his  river  trip,  which  was  long.  Let  it  suffice 
that  he  gained  the  coast  in  safety,  and  after  rewarding 
the  fisherman  with  one  of  the  precious  stones  that 
adorned  the  hilt  of  his  sabre,  he  boarded  a  French 
vessel  sailing  up  the  gulf  of  Bengal,  which  had  stopped 
at  the  river  mouth  to  fill  up  with  fresh  water. 

As  he  was  returning  alone,  or  at  least  accompanied 
but  by  the  remembrance  of  two  dead  women, —  Edith 
whom  he  had  drowned,  and  Priyamvada  shot  by  his 
side, —  he  did  not,  although  the  distance  was  great, 
take  nearly  as  much  time  to  return  to  Europe  as  did 
Edith  and  Sir  Benedict  Arundel. 


294 


THE  QUARTETTE 

In  spite  of  himself  a  secret  attraction  dragged  him 
back  to  London,  which  he  had  so  many  reasons  to 
avoid ;  it  may  be  he  obeyed  that  singular  magnetism 
which  men  feel  just  as  much  as  animals,  and  which 
induces  them  to  return  to  the  same  place  after  every 
violent  blow  of  Fate  which  has  compelled  them  to 
leave  it ;  like  bulls,  that  always  return  to  the  querencia 
until  they  die. 

Although,  owing  to  the  rush  of  events,  the  Count 
had  not  had  time  to  mourn  Priyamvada's  unhappy  fate, 
as  it  deserved,  it  had,  nevertheless,  produced  a  deep 
impression  upon  him  ;  he  felt  himself  circumvented  by 
some  dark  fatality,  and  he  resolved  to  dwell  alone  for 
fear  of  bringing  evil  upon  those  he  might  love  ;  so  he 
lived  in  isolation,  going  out  at  night  only,  and  then  to 
deserted  places,  —  not  that  there  was  any  reason  why 
he  should  hide,  for  before  leaving  for  India  he  had  sent 
Edith's  letters  to  Lord  and  Lady  Harley,  with  these 
words  at  the  foot :  "  Justice  has  been  done."  The 
family  had  spread  the  report  that  the  girl,  taken  to  Italy 
by  the  Count,  to  enjoy  the  honeymoon,  had  died  at 
Naples  of  a  fever  caught  in  the  Pontine  marshes.  As 
this  was  in  no  wise  unlikely,  society,  which  does  not 
busy  itself  much  about  those  that  have  dropped  out,  was 


295 


 THE  QUARTETTE  

satisfied  with  the  specious  statement, —  Lord  and  Lady 
Harley's  grief  confirming  it. 

One  evening  the  Count  de  Volmerange  was  walking 
in  the  quietest  part  of  Hyde  Park.  A  young  lady, 
whose  elegant  and  rich  dress  marked  her  as  belonging 
to  the  highest  aristocracy,  was  walking  swiftly,  ac- 
companied at  some  distance  by  a  servant  in  livery, 
along  the  pond  which  lies  in  the  solitary  portion  of  the 
park  which  is  frequented  usually  only  by  lovers,  poets, 
and  dreamers  ;  sometimes  also  by  pickpockets,  for  a  man 
of  evil  appearance,  issuing  suddenly  from  the  shrubbery, 
sprang  towards  the  lady,  and  seizing  her  shawl,  which 
was  fastened  by  a  large  jewelled  pin,  endeavoured  to 
drag  away  the  rich  tissue.  The  servant  ran  up,  but  a 
blow,  delivered  in  accordance  with  the  best  rules  of 
boxing,  and  which  struck  him  square  in  the  face,  sent 
him  to  the  ground,  a  couple  of  yards  away,  his  nose 
and  mouth  bleeding. 

The  thief  still  pulled  at  the  shawl,  and  the  young 
woman,  almost  strangled,  could  scarcely  call  for  help. 
Volmerange,  happening  to  reach  a  turn  of  the  walk, 
saw  the  struggle,  and  reaching  the  group  at  one  bound, 
re-established  the  balance  of  affairs  by  a  blow  of  his 
stick,  which  slashed  the  thief's  face  like  a  sabre  cut,  and 


296 


THE  QUARTETTE 

made  him  flee  howling  with  pain  in  spite  of  his  very 
natural  desire  to  hold  his  tongue. 

The  lady  was  so  terrified  she  could  scarcely  stand, 
and  Volmerange  was  obliged  to  give  up  pursuing  the 
thief,  in  order  to  support  her.  When  she  had  some- 
what recovered,  Volmerange  was  about  to  withdraw 
after  having  gravely  bowed  to  her,  but  the  lady  held 
out  her  hand,  stopped  him,  and  said  in  a  timid  and  be- 
seeching voice  :  — 

"Oh!  sir,  be  chivalrous  a  little  longer j  kindly  take 
me  back  to  my  carriage  ;  my  poor  Daniel  is  in  a  pite- 
ous condition,  and  I  am  afraid  that  if  these  evil-doers 
see  me  alone  again,  they  may  attack  me  once  more." 

It  was  scarcely  possible  to  refuse  such  a  request, 
and  although  Volmerange  had  sworn  to  himself  never 
to  trouble  again  with  any  woman,  he  could  not  help 
offering,  graciously  enough  for  a  misanthrope  who  in- 
tended to  surpass  the  savageness  of  Timon  of  Athens, 
the  protection  which  was  asked  with  an  insistence  that 
terror  rendered  almost  caressing. 

The  carriage  was  waiting  at  a  somewhat  distant 
point,  so  that  on  the  way  these  two  persons,  so  unex- 
pectedly brought  together,  were  enabled  to  become 
somewhat  acquainted  with  each  other.     And,  indeed, 


297 


THE  QUARTETTE 

a  woman  with  whom  you  have  gone  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred yards,  holding  on  to  your  arm,  and  still  agitated 
by  deep  emotion,  pressing  you  with  her  hand  because 
her  feet  are  trembling,  ceases  to  be  a  stranger.  So 
Volmerange,  who  had  time  to  notice  the  beauty  of  the 
lady,  and  to  gather  from  the  few  remarks  they  ex- 
changed on  the  way  that  she  was  clever,  involuntarily 
slackened  his  steps,  when  he  saw,  drawn  up  near  one 
of  the  park  gates,  a  carriage  with  its  shining  panels 
and  its  splendid  coat  of  arms. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  refuse,"  she  said  after  having 
seated  herself  in  the  satin-lined  carriage,  and  before  the 
footman  closed  the  door,  "  to  tell  me  the  name  of  my 
deliverer.    I  am  Miss  Annabel  Vyvyan." 

"  I  am  Count  de  Volmerange,"  he  replied,  with  a 
deep  bow. 

Miss  Annabel  Vyvyan,  for  it  was  she,  walked, 
after  the  fashion  of  young  English  women,  every  day 
in  that  part  of  the  park,  and  though  her  adventure 
might  well  have  caused  her  to  abandon  her  pedestrian 
excursions,  she  returned  the  next  day  at  the  accustomed 
hour.  Perhaps  she  had  a  vague  presentiment  that  in 
case  of  accident  her  protector  would  not  fail  to  be 
there,  for  she  went  down  the  same  walk  as  the  day 


298 


dt  is £ sfc 4:  rk  is  is  is  is  is  is  is  ti:  4?  4r  4:  &  :fc  ti:  is  is  is  4: 

THE  QUARTETTE 

before,  and  skirted  the  Serpentine  as  she  usually  did  ; 
although  she  did  not  quite  say  so  to  herself,  she  desired 
to  delicately  reward  Volmerange's  courage,  the  recom- 
pense being  the  opportunity  to  meet  her  a  second  time. 

Possibly  Volmerange,  for  his  part,  fancied  Miss 
Annabel  Vyvyan  was  not  quite  safe  in  that  part  of  the 
park,  in  spite  of  the  footman  who  followed  her,  for  the 
next  day  he  took  his  walk  precisely  at  the  same  place 
and  at  the  same  hour. 

Neither  of  them  appeared  astonished  at  meeting,  and 
they  chatted  for  some  little  time,  —  longer  perhaps  than 
strict  •  conventionality  allowed  ;  and  Volmerange,  for 
fear  of  an  unpleasant  occurrence,  escorted  Miss  Anna- 
bel back  to  her  carriage. 

Not  long  afterwards  the  Count  was  regularly  pre- 
sented to  Lady  Eleanor  Braybrooke,  who  thought  him 
charming,  and  noted  with  pleasure  that  he  paid  long 
and  frequent  visits  ;  for  the  practical  lady  considered 
that  Miss  Annabel  carried  too  far  her  faithfulness  to  her 
imaginary  widowhood. 

What  I  have  now  to  relate  violates  the  poetics  of 
novels,  which  admit  of  but  a  single,  eternal  love ;  this, 
however,  is  not  a  novel.  Miss  Annabel  Vyvyan,  who 
had  scarcely  believed  that  after  the  disappearance  or 


299 


J:  4,  4;  £  4:  4;  4.  4.  4«  £  4>  4»4;  4.? 4; 4j  4,  4,  4*  4;  4.  .J; 4;  4; 

 THE  QUARTETTE  

death  of  Benedict,  she  could  ever  love  again,  was  quite 
surprised  to  feel  her  heart  —  which  she  believed  extin- 
guished forever  under  the  ashes  of  her  first  disappoint- 
ment— beating  again:  the  name  of  Count  Volmerange, 
when  he  was  announced  by  the  footman,  always  brought 
a  faint  colour  to  Miss  Annabel's  pale  cheeks ;  at  night, 
when  after  two  or  three  hours'  delightful  conversation 
with  Volmerange,  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  lace- 
trimmed  pillow,  and  submitted  to  that  little  self-exami- 
nation which  every  pretty  woman  indulges  in  about  the 
flirtations  of  the  day,  —  she  would  acknowledge  that 
she  had  replied  with  too  indulgent^a  glance  to  a  burning 
look,  discussed  too  long  points  of  amorous  metaphysics, 
and  had  not  withdrawn  her  hand  quickly  enough  when 
bidding  good-night.  When  she  had  gone  to  sleep,  her 
dreams  were  filled  with  the  face  of  Volmerange  rather 
than  that  of  Benedict. 

The  two  couples  that  had  met  at  the  door  of  St. 
Margaret's  church,  had  physically  and  morally  crossed 
over,  and,  by  a  curious  symmetry,  just  as  Benedict  now 
loved  Edith,  so  did  Miss  Annabel  love  Volmerange, 
who  returned  her  love.  Chance  in  these  contradictory 
combinations  seemed  to  enjoy  crossing  human  pur- 
poses ;   neither   of  the   projected   unions    had  been 


300 


«i«  rl*  «,L>       «A»  *4»  «i»  >£*  »l».^»l»#i»#l»»l»»l»#t»»l»#fy*|»  #ij  «4»  eiy 

THE  QUARTETTE 

accomplished,  none  of  the  pledges  given  had  been 
kept;  those  of  the  four  who  were  apparently  well 
matched,  had  on  the  contrary,  fallen  in  love  with  the 
others.  A  mysterious  power  had  substituted  for  the 
rational  plan  of  these  lives,  a  fantastic  scenario,  extrava- 
gant, illogical ;  the  unity  of  place  and  action  had  been 
violated  by  the  great  Romanticist  who  arranges  human 
dramas,  and  is  called  the  Unexpected. 

Lady  Braybrooke,  who  greatly  desired  to  see  Annabel 
married,  after  what  she  called  Benedict's  affront,  never 
ceased  to  praise  Volmerange  to  her ;  her  praise  was 
naturally  accompanied  by  reprobation  of  the  former 
bridegroom.  Nothing  definite  had  yet  been  spoken, 
but  their  hearts  understood  each  other ;  Volmerange 
was  a  declared  lover,  and  gave  his  arm  to  Lady  Eleanor 
Braybrooke,  and  when  the  aunt  and  niece  went  to  the 
theatre  he  always  had  a  seat  at  the  back  of  the  box, 
behind  Miss  Annabel.  It  must  be  confessed  that  the 
finest  settings  and  most  pathetic  scenes  scarcely  caused 
him  to  look  up,  for  his  glance  rested  by  preference 
upon  the  sweeping  lines  of  Miss  Annabel's  neck  and 
lovely  shoulders.  And  so  it  was  that,  though  he  fre- 
quented the  theatre,  no  one  was  less  acquainted  with 
the    repertoire;   and  Lady  Eleanor  Braybrooke  was 


301 


THE  QUARTETTE 


somewhat  surprised  at  so  intelligent  a  gentleman  profit- 
ing so  little  by  the  fine  things  which  he  seemed  to 
listen  to  so  attentively. 

Annabel  did  indeed,  from  time  to  time,  feel  a  vague 
dread  of  the  sudden  appearance  of  Benedict,  who  would 
reproach  her  with  her  disloyalty  :  for  no  woman  will 
admit  that  a  man  can  be  faithless,  though  she  herself 
never  lacks  excellent  reasons  to  justify  a  similar  fault  on 
her  own  part ;  but  the  months  passed,  and  Benedict's 
disappearance  was  still  enveloped  in  the  deepest  obscur- 
ity ;  Miss  Vy vyan  had  therefore  gradually  overcome  her 
dread  of  any  posthumous  claim,  and  .was  beginning  to 
love  Volmerange  without  feeling  too  much  terrified  at 
the  possible  consequences ;  while  the  latter  had  totally 
forgotten  Edith  and  even  Priyamvada. 

His  adventures  with  the  latter  only  occurred  to  him 
as  the  hallucinations  of  an  opium  dream,  —  her  golden 
complexion,  her  painted  eyes,  her  exotic  perfumes,  their 
excursions  on  elephants'  backs,  their  meetings  in  the 
pagodas,  the  battles  in  the  forest  filled  with  creepers,  — 
all  these  strange  scenes  recurred  to  the  Count  as  unreal 
remembrances.  Had  Priyamvada  lived,  charming 
though  she  was,  she  would  certainly  have  proved  an 
embarrassment  to  Volmerange,  for  what  would  have 


302 


±±£±4;  4;  4,4-  4;  4,  4j-  4,  4;  4;  4;  4,4,4^4:4, 4.4,  4* 

 THE  QUARTETTE  

been  said,  had  he  taken  her  to  Almack's,  of  a  lady  who 
wore  ear-rings  in  her  nose,  and  whose  brow  was  tattooed 
with  gorothchana?  Yet  the  Count  could  not  help  a 
feeling  of  sadness,  as  he  recalled  the  perfect  beauty,  the 
ardent  love,  and  the  boundless  devotion  of  the  poor 
Hindoo  maid.  These  qualities,  although  somewhat 
uncommon  and  irregular,  did  deserve  some  regrets. 

During  all  these  chances  and  changes,  Miss  Edith  and 
Sir  Benedict  Arundel,  whom  we  left  on  the  Calais  pier, 
had  taken  ship  and  reached  England. 

Before  entering  London,  they  had  separated,  and  each 
had  taken  a  house  in  a  retired  section.  Naturally  the 
fiction  of  the  marriage  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith  could  no 
longer  be  kept  up ;  besides,  Miss  Edith  was  Countess 
of  Volmerange,  and  Sir  Benedict  the  husband  of  Miss 
Annabel  Vyvyan,  or  nearly  so.  They  had  returned  from 
St.  Helena,  with  the  intention  of  resuming  wedded  life; 
then  they  had  also  to  carry  out  the  philosophical  test 
they  had  agreed  upon. 

Volmerange  had  received  a  note  from  Annabel,  invit- 
ing him  to  call  for  her  with  her  aunt,  and  to  go  to  a 

concert  at  Princess  's.    He  was  dressed  and  ready 

to  go  when  his  valet  informed  him  that  a  veiled  lady 
desired  to  speak  to  him. 


3°3 


THE  QUARTETTE 


"A  veiled  lady?  that  is  a  curious  visit  at  such  an 
hour  as  this!  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  given  up 
frequenting  the  wings  of  Drury  Lane,  and  this  is  not 
the  operatic  season.  Who  the  devil  can  it  be?  1  sup- 
pose some  high-principled  mother,  who  wants  me  to 
engage  her  daughter  as  companion." 

"What  shall  I  tell  the  lady,  sir?  "  asked  the  valet,  who 
evidently  waited  for  an  answer. 

"  Tell  her  to  write  her  name,  and  what  she  wants,  on 
her  card." 

"I  did  so,  sir,"  answered  the  valet,  "but  she  replied 
she  did  not  wish  to  give  her  name,  and  would  speak  to 
you  alone." 

"  Is  she  young  or  old,  ugly  or  pretty  ? "  asked  the 
Count,  through  an  excess  of  precaution. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  judge  of  the  appearance  of  the 
veiled  lady,  sir,  she  is  pretty,  and  by  the  lightness  of  her 
walk  I  should  judge  she  is  young." 

The  Count  looked  at  the  clock,  and  saw  he  had  a 
half-hour  to  spare  before  calling  on  Annabel ;  he  told 
his  servant  to  show  in  the  mysterious  person. 

The  curious  visit,  the  determination  not  to  give  her 
name,  the  veil  drawn  over  the  features,  combined  to 
give  a  romantic  turn  to  the  adventure,  which  easily 

3°4 


THE  QUARTETTE 


captivated  the  lively  imagination  of  the  Count;  and  yet, 
in  spite  of  himself,  he  felt  a  vague  terror,  and  shuddered 
involuntarily.  He  happened  to  catch  sight  of  himself  in 
the  mirror,  and  saw  that  he  was  pale. 

The  room  was  large,  richly  but  quietly  furnished,  and 
lighted  by  a  single  lamp,  the  beams  of  which,  concen- 
trated in  a  single  point,  left  the  rest  of  the  room  in 
shadow.  It  was  raining,  and  the  rain  beat  on  the  win- 
dows in  a  way  that  recalled  a  certain  tempestuous 
night. 

An  anxious  expectation,  contrasting  with  the  trifling 
nature  of  his  replies  to  his  servant,  filled  Volmerange's 
heart.  When  the  door  opened  to  give  passage  to  the 
stranger,  the  slight  creaking  of  the  hinges  caused  him  to 
start  nervously. 

The  door  was  in  shadow,  so  the  Count  could  not  at 
first  make  out  the  lady  who  had  entered,  but  with  the 
well-bred  courtesy  which  marked  him,  he  advanced 
towards  her.  The  light  of  the  lamp  now  fell  full  upon 
the  new-comer ;  the  valet  was  right  —  it  was  not  ugliness, 
but  a  secret  or  modesty,  which  induced  the  use  of  the 
veil,  through  which  the  beauty  of  the  lady  shone  like  a 
fire  behind  a  metallic  grating.  She  could  not  be  seen, 
but  one  felt  she  was  beautiful.    She  wore  a  long  white 

305 


THE  QUARTETTE 

gown,  which  fell  in  fine  close  folds  like  those  of  Phidias, 
and  over  it  fell,  with  coquettish  but  funereal  lines,  a 
black  lace  mantilla. 

"  Madam,"  said  Volmerange,  "  will  you  not  draw  up 
your  veil  ?  Since  you  can  trust  me  so  far  as  to  call  at 
my  house  at  this  hour,  these  precautions  are  useless  : 
your  secret  is  safe.  You  will  not  let  me  know  your 
name,  let  me  at  least  see  your  face." 

"  Do  you  wish  it  ?  "  replied  the  unknown,  in  a  sweet, 
penetrating  voice. 

The  well-known  accents  made  Volmerange  shiver. 

The  lady,  with  a  slender  white  hand,  the  shape  of 
which  recalled  innumerable  remembrances  to  the  Count, 
began  slowly  to  draw  up  the  black  folds  of  her  veil ; 
first  showed  her  lovely  chin,  marked  with  a  little  mark 
that  filled  Volmerange  with  dread  ;  then  lips  of  the 
brightest  red,  which  carried  his  terror  to  the  highest 
point ;  then  the  Greek  nose  and  the  lovely  brown  eyes 
that  made  him  mad  with  fright. 

Holding  her  veil  above  her  head  with  her  beautiful 
marble  hand,  in  an  attitude  worthy  of  an  antique  statue, 
she  placidly  presented  herself  to  Volmerange's  startled 
gaze.    He  had  drawn  back  and  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  uttered  in  a  low  voice,  "  who  are  you?" 

306 


«a»   «4«»  «4<  J-»  *4*  »A»  ^  «4*  »t»  ts?«lrs!btfeti?cS?Ss»  dbscrsS?  «§?  t8»t)t? 

THE  QUARTETTE 


"  I  am  Lady  Edith,  Countess  of  Volmerange." 

"  No,  you  lie!  you  are  a  spectre ;  your  dress  must  be 
wet ;  you  have  come  from  the  Thames.  Go,  leave  me  ! 
I  drowned  you  ;  you  know  it,  I  had  the  right  to  do  it. 
What  a  strange  adventure  !  Is  Dolfos  going  to  come 
back  to  life  too  ?  It  would  be  very  funny,"  said  the 
Count,  bursting  into  shrill  laughter. 

He  was  a  maniac. 


3°7 


^^^^^  ^  ^^^^^dbdbdbdbtfcdbtbtbtir^rtir 

THE  QUARTETTE 
4:4:4:4:4:  db  4:4:  4:  4r^dbdb  4:4:4?  dbdb  4: 4:4:4: 4:4? 

XXI 

MISS  ANNABEL,  in  her  ball-dress,  was 
studying  in  the  mirror  the  effect  of  a  sprig 
of  Cape  heath,  coquettishly  placed  in  her 
beautiful  hair;  she  had  never  looked  lovelier;  the 
thought  of  the  coming  of  the  man  she  loved  lighted 
her  beauty  with  an  inward  glory  that  made  her  radiant. 
It  is  sweet  at  such  a  time  to  feel  one's  self  beautiful, 
and  to  increase  love  by  admiration.  Fair,  rosy,  daz- 
zling, in  a  dress  that  seemed  cut  out  of  the  petals  of  a 
flower,  in  a  gauze  tunic  more  tenuous  and  transparent 
than  the  wings  of  a  dragon-flower  and  caught  up  by 
sprigs  of  heath  like  that  she  wore  in  her  hair,  Annabel 
Vyvyan  looked  like  a  sylph  indulging  in  the  fancy  of 
going  out  for  the  evening. 

The  maid,  having  done  her  work,  withdrew.  Anna- 
bel, left  alone,  —  for  Lady  Eleanor  Braybrooke,  having 
much  more  to  do  in  the  way  of  repairing  her  beauty, 
remained  much  longer  than  her  niece  in  the  hands  of 
her  women,  —  felt  that  sort  of  restlessness  which 
people  who  have  dressed  too  early  for  an  entertain- 


308 


THE  QUARTETTE 

ment  are  apt  to  experience.  She  had  written  Vol- 
merange  to  come  at  nine;  it  was  scarcely  eight,  so  she 
had  an  hour  of  idleness  and  motionlessness  to  spend ; 
for  she  might  have  disarranged  her  dress  had  she 
indulged  in  any  occupation. 

By  way  of  passing  the  time  she  took  up  a  book  and 
read  inattentively  a  few  pages ;  she  opened  the  piano 
and  ran  her  polished  fingers  up  and  down  the  bright 
ivory  keys,  but  the  sound  of  the  notes  and  the  vibration 
of  the  strings  made  her  nervous,  so  she  closed  the 
instrument.  One  of  her  bracelets,  somewhat  too  large, 
slipped  down  on  her  hand,  and  was  in  her  way ;  she 
went  to  her  jewel-case  to  take  out  another ;  as  she 
replaced  the  jewel-case,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  letters 
Benedict  had  written  in  the  days  of  his  courtship.  It 
so  happened  that  this  was  the  very  anniversary  of  the 
wedding  so  strangely  interrupted  at  St.  Margaret's. 

This  fact,  recalled  to  Miss  Annabel's  memory  by 
the  sight  of  the  casket,  made  her  sigh ;  moved  by  a 
melancholy  fancy  she  drew  one  letter  from  the  bundle, 
and  standing  by  the  mantel-piece,  for  she  felt  chilly  in 
her  low-necked  dress,  she  began  to  read. 

"  Dear  Annabel,"  said  the  letter,  which  had  been 
written  during  a  short  absence,  "  how  am  I  to  spend 


309 


tb  db  tb  sb  sb  tlb  db  db  tbtb^b^tbt^tbdbtbtbdbtbtbtlrtbtl! 

THE  QUARTETTE 

the  three  days  which  I  have  to  pass  far  from  you,  after 
having  become  accustomed  to  your  sweet  presence, 
and  seeing  every  evening  your  soul  shining  in  your 
eyes,  and  your  mind  in  your  smile  ?  The  only  thing 
which  enables  me  to  bear  with  the  separation  is  the 
thought  that  soon  we  shall  never  again  be  parted,  and 
that  our  two  lives  shall  flow  on  like  two  streams  that 
mingle  their  waters." 

The  reading  of  the  note  plunged  Miss  Annabel  into 
a  deep  reverie. 

"  What  is  the  use,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  of  keeping 
these  tokens  of  a  false  love  ?  " 

And  she  cast  the  letter  into  the  fire. 

She  took  a  second,  which  she  read,  and  which  joined 
the  first  in  the  burning  coals.  She  thus  traversed, 
letter  by  letter,  the  whole  course  of  her  vanished  love. 
As  soon  as  she  had  breathed  the  vague  perfume  of 
remembrance  that  clung  to  the  notes,  she  threw  into 
the  flames  the  remains  of  a  vanished  time  of  happiness. 

41  Nine  o'clock,"  she  said  as  she  threw  away  the 
last  letter  in  the  casket,  "  and  Volmerange  has  not 
come." 

The  paper  caught  fire,  and  owing  to  the  coals  burn- 
ing away,  rolled  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  fireplace  ; 

310 


THE  QUARTETTE 

just  as  it  was  about  to  go  out,  but  revived  no  doubt  by 
some  draft,  the  letter,  more  than  half  consumed,  blazed 
up,  and  the  dying  flame,  seeking  for  food,  touched  the 
hem  of  Annabel's  gauze  dress,  and  flashed  like  a  ser- 
pent up  the  folds  of  the  light  stuff.  Annabel  saw  her- 
self suddenly  in  the  midst  of  a  flaming  light  and  a  hot 
atmosphere ;  she  ran  to  the  bell-rope,  but  maddened 
by  terror  and  pain  she  looked  for  it  on  the  left  when 
it  was  on  the  right,  and  the  flames,  excited  by  her 
movements,  enveloped  her  victoriously  and  trium- 
phantly. The  poor  child  rolled  on  the  floor  to  try  to 
put  out  the  fire,  and  tried  to  drag  off  her  clothes  as  she 
screamed. 

At  that  very  moment  the  door  was  opened  and  the 
servant  announced  :  — 
"  Sir  Benedict  Arundel." 

u  Save  me,  save  me  !  "  cried  unfortunate  Annabel, 
enveloped  in  flames. 

Benedict  and  the  servant  sprang  forward,  but  it  was 
too  late  ;  and  in  the  delirium  of  horrible  agony  she 
fixed  her  terrified  eyes  on  her  former  lover,  and  mur- 
mured as  the  death  rattle  was  heard  :  — 

"  Benedict  here  !  Oh  !  this  is  too  great  a  punish- 
ment !  " 

3iJ 


THE  QUARTETTE 

The  servant,  terrified,  half  beside  himself,  sprang 
out  for  a  doctor  and  water,  while  Benedict  endeavoured 
to  stifle  the  flames  that  still  burned  Annabel's  under- 
garments by  wrapping  her  up  in  the  table-cover ;  but 
when  assistance  came  Annabel  had  just  expired. 

Benedict,  half  crazed,  went  away,  unable  to  bear  the 
dreadful  sight ;  no  one,  in  the  excitement  of  the  terri- 
ble catastrophe,  paid  any  attention  to  his  coming  or 
going.  —  A  few  days  later,  Lady  Eleanor  Braybrooke 
received  a  few  half-burned  letters  that  had  been  picked 
up  on  the  floor,  and  that  explained  the  dreadful  event; 
through  her  tears  she  managed  to  make  out  the  few 
incomplete  lines  that  remained,  and  understood  that 
these  bits  of  paper  had  caused  the  accident,  —  a  dis- 
covery which  further  increased  the  hatred  the  good  lady 
entertained  for  Benedict. 

By  a  strange  coincidence,  by  a  mysterious  fatality, 
Benedict's  love-letters  had  taken  back  Annabel  at  the 
very  moment  when  she  expected  a  different  visitor;  a 
superstitious  soul  might  have  seen  a  chastisement  in 
this,  —  but  a  chastisement  of  what?  Innocence,  no 
doubt,  unless  innocence  pays  the  ransom  of  crime 
by  a  law  of  inversion,  the  reason  for  which  escapes 
me. 


312 


THE  QUARTETTE 

The  visits  paid  by  Benedict  and  Miss  Edith  had  not 
resulted  very  fortunately,  and  their  experiment  had 
ended  as  most  philosophical  experiments  do  end. 

On  arriving  at  the  close  of  this  story,  or  episode 
rather,  I  feel  the  need  of  clearing  up  the  parts  of  the 
narration  which  would  otherwise  remain  obscure. 

During  the  latter  years  of  the  Empire,  friendships 
contracted  at  college,  acquaintances  made  in  society  or 
elsewhere,  similarity  of  tastes  in  work  or  pleasure,  a 
certain  bold  conformity  of,  thought,  and  the  curious 
chances  of  fortune  had  drawn  together  in  England 
men  of  different  countries  and  different  ranks,  but 
every  one  of  great  mind,  and  strong  will, —  men  of 
mark  in  their  own  way.  A  sort  of  involuntary 
free-masonry  had  speedily  arisen  among  them ;  they 
spoke  to  each  other  in  society,  and  exchanged  in  the 
recesses  of  windows  rapid  remarks  that  summed  up 
a  whole  philosophy  in  an  imperceptible  smile  or  a 
slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  Many  were  rich,  others 
were  powerful,  some  were  both ;  others  skilful,  some 
great  poets,  others  great  politicians. 

The  ordinary  amusements  of  a  club  —  wine,  horses, 
and  women  —  could  not  satisfy  such  people,  who  were 

313 


•JU  »A»  r\->  r  »ii  riu  <4»  »i"  «4»  *4»  »l»»i»»4»  «4*  jfejfe 

 THE  QUARTETTE  

weary  of  the  emotions  of  orgies  and  gambling  ;  several 
of  them,  besides,  could  have  exhibited  a  longer  and 
better  selected  list  of  names  than  that  of  Don  Juan. 
They  therefore  sought  for  an  aim  to  which  they  could 
devote  their  activity,  and  this  is  what  they  found  :  the 
triumph  of  Will  over  Fate. 

Constituting  themselves  into  a  sort  of  secret  tribunal, 
they  summoned  before  them  contemporary  history,  and 
gave  themselves  the  task  of  annulling  its  decrees  when 
they  did  not  consider  them  just.  In  a  word,  they  pro- 
posed to  work  events  overhand  to  correct  Providence. 
These  intrepid  gamblers,  bolder  than  the  Titans  of 
fable,  tried  to  win  back  from  God  the  games  lost  on 
the  green  cloth  of  the  world,  and  bound  themselves  by 
most  formidable  oaths  to  assist  each  other  in  these 
undertakings. 

The  insurrection  in  India,  the  re-establishment  of 
Napoleon  on  a  greater  throne,  the  deliverance  of  Spain, 
the  freeing  of  Greece,  where  later  Byron,  who  was  one 
of  the  members  of  the  Junta,  came  to  his  death, — 
such  were  the  plans  which  these  men  proposed  to 
carry  out.  The  various  movements  and  revolts  which 
took  place  about  that  time  were  their  work.  They  it 
was  who  guided  the  Mahrattas  against  England,  who 

3H 


!§••§■  4?  «l?  4?  tfc        jfj  «1»  ■  I ■  rj*  »A»  »i»  rj<  »j»  tA»  gj»  jgjfc 

THE  QUARTETTE 

agitated  in  the  Peninsula,  prepared  the  Greek  insur- 
rection, and  tried  to  carry  off  the  Emperor,  for  whom 
the  Oriental  empire  he  had  dreamed  of  in  his  youth 
had  been  made  ready  in  India,  whence  he  was  to 
return  to  Europe  by  retracing  Alexander's  road. 

These  great  minds,  these  inflexible  wills,  which 
made  over  the  map  of  the  world,  and  determined  to 
make  Chance  obey  their  orders,  had  never  yet  suc- 
ceeded in  their  purpose ;  whenever  they  had  nearly 
attained  their  end,  they  had  been  overthrown  by  that 
small,  soft  air,  which  is  perhaps  the  spirit  of  God  ;  all 
their  carefully  worked-out  plans  had  failed,  and,  though 
they  could  not  tell  why,  in  spite  of  all  their  efforts, 
mysterious  Fate  continued  on  its  blind  way,  maintain- 
ing its  decisions.  What  appeared  to  them  the  right 
was  beaten ;  what  appeared  to  them  injustice  was 
triumphant.  Genius  was  crucified,  and  mediocrity 
bloomed  out  under  its  golden  crown.  An  unexpected 
obstacle,  a  treason,  or  some  other  obstacle,  invariably 
upset  their  arrangements  at  the  very  moment  of  suc- 
cess. They  tried  to  stem  events,  and  felt  themselves, 
in  spite  of  their  prodigious  efforts,  carried  away  by  the 
resistless  tide. 

Most  of  them  stuck  to  their  task  with  the  fury  of  a 

3^5 


THE  QUARTETTE 

gambler  in  ill-luck,  the  delirium  of  pride  struggling 
with  the  impossible ;  madmen  that  they  were,  they 
cast  handfuls  of  dust  against  Heaven,  and  like  Xerxes, 
would  willingly  have  had  the  sea  beaten  with  rods. 
Others,  stronger-minded,  had  begun  to  suspect  what, 
for  lack  of  a  better  expression,  I  shall  call  "the  mathe- 
matics of  Chance  ;  "  they  began  to  feel  that  events 
were  determined  by  a  gravitation,  the  law  of  which 
had  yet  to  be  discovered  by  some  future  Newton  ;  they 
agitated  the  world  as  a  physicist  stirs  the  glass  to  mix 
the  liquids  in  it,  and  to  see  them  resume  their  places 
according  to  their  specific  gravity. 

Sir  Arthur  Sidney,  Sir  Benedict  Arundel,  Count  de 
Volmerange,  Dolfos,  and  Daksha  belonged  to  this  pow- 
erful association  ;  Sidney  and  Daksha,  as  members  of 
the  upper  circle,  had  the  right  to  select  from  among  their 
brethren  those  whom  they  considered  necessary  for  the 
execution  of  their  projects.  Benedict  and  Volmerange, 
who,  in  spite  of  their  oath,  had  taken  upon  themselves 
to  dispose  of  their  own  lives,  had  been  brought  back  to 
duty  in  the  way  narrated  in  this  story.  Yet  the  many 
lives  disturbed  or  destroyed,  the  manifold  sacrifices  of 
money,  courage,  and  genius,  had  effected  no  results ; 
the  invisible  player  had  always  won. 


316 


THE  QUARTETTE 

What  I  have  just  said  will  suffice  to  give  an  idea  of 
the  purpose  and  methods  of  the  association,  —  a  sort 
of  philosophical  Vehmgerichte,  which  used  incredible 
energies  and  vast  resources  to  substitute  in  history  the 
human  will  for  the  divine.  These  men,  who  had  little 
religion,  who  believed  only  in  power  and  genius,  had 
mistaken  Providence  for  Chance,  and  taking  the  pen 
from  the  hand  of  God,  had  attempted  to  write  in  His 
place  upon  the  Book  of  Eternity. 

Now,  as  is  customary  at  the  end  of  a  story,  I  have 
merely  to  state  the  fate  of  the  few  characters  which 
have  survived  the  violence  of  the  action. 

Volmerange  constantly  sees  standing  before  him  the 
white  form  of  Edith,  and  crouches  with  terror  in  the 
corner  of  his  cell  at  Bedlam,  withdrawing  as  far  as  he 
can  from  the  spectre  which  his  crazed  imagination 
shows  him  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

As  for  Miss  Edith  and  Sir  Benedict  Arundel,  some 
English  tourists,  who  were  going  to  Smyrna  and  visiting 
the  Ionian  islands,  said  they  had  seen  at  Rhodes,  in  a 
lovely  marble  palace  built  in  the  days  of  the  knights, 
and  in  which  were  set  antique  fragments,  a  young 
couple  whose  grave  and  sweet  serenity  gave  the  im- 
pression that  they  were  enjoying  as  much  happiness  as 

3J7 


££££££££££££££££££££££££ 

THE  QUARTETTE 


can  fall  to  the  lot  of  those  whose  lives  have  been  filled 
with  grief  and  divers  vicissitudes  ;  although  known  only 
under  the  name  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith,  they  appeared 
to  belong  to  a  higher  class  than  that  humble  name 
would  indicate.  They  neither  avoided  nor  sought  out 
their  fellow-countrymen,  but  they  preferred  to  be  alone, 
—  a  plain  indication  that  they  were  happy. 

Sidney  never  re-appeared,  and  no  news  of  him  was 
ever  received.  Was  he  dead,  or  had  he  buried  in  some 
solitude  his  despair  at  having  failed  in  the  enterprise 
which  had  been  the  sole  aim  of  his  life  for  five  years  ? 
That  was  never  known.  Only,  some  years  later,  a 
vessel  returning  from  India,  and  which  had  been  driven 
by  a  gale  towards  Tristan  d'Acunha,  landed  some  of 
its  crew  upon  an  islet  in  the  group  to  catch  turtles  and 
gather  sea-birds'  eggs,  by  way  of  varying  somewhat  the 
salt  fare  on  board.  One  of  the  men  stumbled  on  the 
sand  over  a  mass  of  small  shells  which  had  the  general 
outline  of  a  bottle.  Delighted  with  his  discovery,  the 
sailor,  convinced  that  the  bottle  must  contain  rum, 
cleared  away  the  crust  of  earth  and  shells,  and  forcing 
ofF  the  lead  cap,  he  found,  instead  of  the  liquor  he 
hoped  for,  a  parchment,  which  he  handed  to  his  cap- 
tain with  a  fidelity  he  would  not  have  exhibited  had  the 


THE  QUARTETTE 

contents  been  spirits.  The  captain  opened  the  parch- 
ment, folded  in  four,  and  read  the  following :  — 

"On  the  point  of  carrying  out  the  boldest  and 
strangest  undertaking  a  man  ever  attempted,  I,  Sir 
Arthur  Sidney,  my  mind  clear  and  my  hand  firm,  know- 
ing that  the  waves  under  which  I  am  about  to  plunge 
may  swallow  me  up,  write  these  lines,  which  perhaps 
will  be  read  later,  should  I  perish  in  my  submarine 
voyage,  so  that  my  secret  may  not  wholly  die  with  me. 

"  As  an  Englishman  I  have  been  deeply  humiliated 
by  the  shameful  behaviour  of  England  towards  the 
great  Emperor.  As  a  respectful  son  I  sought  to  wash 
away  this  stain  from  my  mother's  honour,  and  to  spare 
her  the  shame  of  having  murdered  her  guest.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  tear  this  page  from  the  history  of  my 
country,  so  that  hereafter  men  should  say  that  if  Eng- 
land had  made  him  a  prisoner,  an  Englishman  had  de- 
livered him  and  redeemed  his  country's  word. 

"  I  am  endeavouring  to  prevent  my  country,  which  I 
love,  from  committing  deicide,  which  may  bring  down 
upon  it  the  execration  of  the  world,  as  the  murder  of 
Jesus  made  the  Jews  hated  over  the  whole  world.  I 
have  saciificed  my  life  to  that  idea ;   for  what  aim  can 


3*9 


THE  QUARTETTE 


one  have  greater  and  holier  than  the  glory  of  the  human 
family  of  which  we  are  a  part  ?  To-morrow  either 
Prometheus,  taken  down  from  his  cross,  shall  be  on 
board  a  vessel  that  awaits  him,  and  which  will  carry 
him  to  a  new  empire,  and  to  a  greater  destiny  perhaps 
than  that  which  has  astonished  the  world,  or  else  God 
will  have  decreed  that,  in  what  I  am  undertaking,  I  am 
trespassing  upon  the  attributes  of  Providence. 
"May  4,  1821,  in  sight  of  St.  Helena.'" 

The  captain  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  parchment, 
the  writing  on  which  had  turned  yellow,  and  read 
several  times  the  letter  which,  after  tossing  about  so 
long  in  its  close  prison,  had  been  cast  ashore  upon  the 
deserted  island,  and  was  probably  the  only  trace  left  of 
the  fate  of  a  noble  idea,  a  strong  will,  and  a  great  cour- 
age. He  then  remembered  having  sometimes  seen  Sir 
Arthur  Sidney  in  London  and  in  Calcutta. 

When  the  ship  passed  St.  Helena  the  captain  saluted 
from  afar  the  tomb  of  the  great  man,  and  said  to  him- 
self:— 

"  God  did  not  justify  Sidney,  since  the  Emperor  is 
sleeping  under  the  willow,  and  I  have  that  letter  in  my 
pocketbook.  Sir  Arthur  must  have  been  drowned.  I 
am  sorry  for  it,  for  I  should  willingly  have  shaken  hands 


320 


± £: £ £ £  £  ±  & &-k&&&*:&&&4:*: * 

THE  QUARTETTE 


with  him,  frankly  and  loyally,  and  should  like  to  have 
had  him  seated  opposite  me  at  table  in  the  1  Lovely 
Jenny's'  cabin." 

The  "  Lovely  Jenny,"  for  it  was  she,  had  been  sold 
to  a  Calcutta  merchant  by  Captain  Peppercull,  to  whom 
Sidney  had  said  that  if  he  did  not  return  within  five 
days  he  was  to  dispose  of  the  vessel  as  he  pleased.  By 
a  singular  chance  it  was  the  "  Lovely  Jenny  "  which 
had  picked  up  the  will  of  its  former  owner. 

Now  let  me  state  what  I  have  managed  to  learn  con- 
cerning Daksha.  After  finding  Priyamvada's  body  by 
that  of  the  elephant,  he  buried  it,  carefully  observing 
every  rite ;  he  then  resumed  his  former  austerities  and 
invented  an  attitude  of  frightful  constraint,  which  must 
have  caused  the  greatest  pleasures  to  the  trinities,  the 
quadrinities,  and  the  quintinities  of  the  Hindoo  Olym- 
pus. He  has  not  given  up  hopes  of  re-establishing  the 
Lunar  dynasty,  and  still  looks  for  Volmerange.  His 
withered  fingers  rub  the  cousa  more  feverishly  than 
ever,  and  his  black  lips  murmur  with  delirious  piety  the 
inefFable  monosyllable  which  contains  everything —  and 
other  things  besides. 

In  pursuance  of  the  idea  which  occurred  to  him  dur- 
ing the  fight,  he  no  longer  suspends  himself  by  three 


THE  QUARTETTE 

hooks  in  the  muscles  of  his  back,  but  with  five ;  thanks 
to  this  ingenious  penance,  he  is  convinced  that  the 
English  will  be  driven  from  India,  and  that  he  will  ob- 
tain of  Heaven  the  favour  of  dying  while  holding  on  to 
a  cow's  tail,  a  belief  which  does  not  prevent  his  being 
a  very  deep  philosopher,  an  impenetrable  diplomat,  a 
remarkable  politician,  or  his  secretly  causing  revolts  in 
the  provinces,  and  weaving  endless  deep  intrigaes,  while 
he  remains  seated  on  his  gazelle  skin  between  four  bra- 
ziers, and  gives  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  the  Honour- 
able East  India  Company. 


322 


The  Mummy^s  Foot 


THE  MUMMY'S  FOOT 

HAVING  nothing  particular  to  do,  I  had 
entered  the  shop  of  one  of  those  dealers 
in  curiosities  called  bric-a-brac  dealers  in 
our  Parisian  slang,  which  is  utterly  unin- 
telligible in  other  parts  of  France.  No  doubt  you  have 
sometimes  glanced  at  the  windows  of  some  of  these 
shops,  which  have  multiplied  since  it  has  become 
fashionable  to  purchase  old  furniture,  and  every  stock- 
broker thinks  he  must  have  a  mediaeval  room.  They 
have  at  one  and  the  same  time  something  of  the  junk- 
dealer,  the  upholsterer,  the  alchemist's  laboratory,  and 
the  painter's  studio.  In  these  mysterious  dens,  through 
which  a  prudent  half-light  niters,  what  is  most  genuinely 
old  is  the  dirt.  The  cobwebs  there  are  more  authentic 
than  the  lace,  and  old  pear-tree  wood  is  younger  than 
mahogany  imported  last  week  from  America. 

The  shop  d  my  bric-a-brac  dealer  was  a  regular 
lumber-room ;  every  age  and  every  country  appeared  to 
be  represented  in  it.  A  red  clay  Etruscan  lamp  rested 
upon  a  cabinet  by  Boule,  with  ebony  panels  austerely 
inlaid  with  brass  ;  a  half-lounge  of  the  days  of  Louis 

325 


db  db  £ £  d:  £  4: 4:  d:  di?  d:  d?d:  db  4;  d:  d:  d:  db  d:  tlr  d: d:  db 

THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


XV  carelessly  extended  its  fawn  feet  under  a  thick 
Louis  XIII  table,  with  heavy  oaken  spirals  and  carved 
foliage  and  monsters.  In  one  corner  gleamed  the 
wavy  breastplate  of  a  damascened  suit  of  Milan 
armour.  Parian  porcelain  cupids  and  nymphs,  Chinese 
grotesques,  vases  of  celadon  and  craqutle,  cups  of 
Dresden  and  old  Sevres  china,  covered  the  shelves  and 
filled  up  the  corners.  On  the  denticulated  shelves 
of  the  sideboards  shone  resplendently  great  Japanese 
dishes  with  red  and  blue  ornaments,  set  off  by  gold 
hatchings,  side  by  side  with  enamels  by  Bernard  Palissy, 
representing  adders,  frogs,  and  lizards  in  relief.  From 
wardrobes  that  burst  open  escaped  cascades  of  silk 
damask,  overlaid  with  silver,  waves  of  brocatelle,  which 
a  sunbeam  covered  with  luminous  dots ;  while  portraits 
of  every  period  in  more  or  less  dull  gold  frames  smiled 
through  their  yellow  varnish. 

The  dealer  carefully  followed  me  along  the  narrow 
passage  left  open  between  the  piles  of  furniture,  keep- 
ing down  the  fluttering  skirts  of  my  coat,  and  watching 
my  elbows,  with  the  restless  attention  of  an  antiquarian 
and  a  usurer. 

He  had  a  curious  face,  that  dealer ;  a  big  skull, 
polished  like  marble,  with  a  thin  aureole  of  white  hair, 


326 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 

brought  out  more  strongly  by  the  pale  salmon  colour 
of  his  skin,  giving  him  a  sham  look  of  patriarchal  kind- 
ness, which  was  neutralised,  however,  by  the  sparkling 
of  two  little  yellow  eyes  that  shone  in  their  orbs  like 
two  gold  coins  laid  on  mercury.  The  aquiline  profile 
of  his  nose  recalled  the  Oriental  or  Jewish  type;  his 
thin,  slender  hands,  covered  with  veins  and  full  of 
nerves  standing  out  like  the  strings  of  a  violin,  and 
provided  with  nails  like  the  claws  at  the  end  of  a  bat's 
wings,  had  a  most  unpleasant  senile  trembling ;  but 
when  they  lifted  some  precious  object,  an  onyx  cup,  a 
Venetian  glass,  or  a  tray  of  Bohemian  crystal,  these 
trembling  hands  became  stronger  than  steel  pincers  or 
lobster's  claws.  The  old  rascal  had  such  a  thoroughly 
rabbinical  and  cabalistic  look  that  he  would  have  burned 
at  the  stake  three  centuries  ago  merely  on  account  of 
his  appearance. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  buy  anything  to-day,  sir  ? 
Here  is  a  Malay  -ieese,  the  blade  of  which  is  waved 
like  a  flame.  Look  at  the  grooves  for  the  blood  to  run 
down  ;  and  at  these  teeth  cut  the  reverse  way  to  tear 
the  entrails  as  you  pull  out  the  weapon.  It  is  a  fero- 
cious arm,  very  characteristic,  which  would  look  un- 
commonly well  on  your  wall.    This  two-handed  sword 


327 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


is  very  handsome.  It  is  by  Joseph  de  la  Hera.  And 
this  great  duelling-sword  with  open-work  pearl  handle 
is  a  superb  piece  of  work." 

"  No,  I  have  enough  weapons  and  instruments  of 
destruction.  I  want  a  statuette,  a  trifle,  for  a  paper- 
weight, for  I  cannot  bear  those  cheap  bronzes  sold  by 
stationers,  which  are  to  be  found  on  every  writing- 
table." 

The  old  gnome,  rummaging  among  his  possessions, 
spread  out  before  me  antique  bronzes,  —  or  at  least 
claimed  to  be  antique  —  pieces  of  malachite,  small 
Hindoo  or  Chinese  jade  idols,  grotesque  incarnations 
of  Brahma  or  Vishnu,  uncommonly  well  fitted  to  the 
not  very  divine  purpose  of  keeping  down  newspapers 
and  letters. 

I  was  hesitating  between  a  porcelain  dragon  covered 
with  warts,  its  mouth  adorned  with  fangs  and  tentacles, 
and  a  small  abominable  Mexican  fetish  representing 
the  god  Witziliputzili,  when  I  noticed  a  lovely  foot, 
which  at  first  I  thought  must  be  a  fragment  of  some 
antique  Venus.  It  had  the  lovelv  tawny,  ruddy  tints 
that  give  to  Florentine  bronze  its  warm  and  living  tints 
so  preferable  to  the  verdigrised  tone  of  ordinary  bronzes, 
which  might  easily  be  mistaken  for  statues  in  a  state  of 


328 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


putrefaction.  Satiny  gleams  shimmered  over  its  round 
forms,  polished  by  the  loving  kisses  of  twenty  centuries ; 
for  it  unquestionably  was  of  Corinthian  brass,  a  piece 
of  work  of  the  best  epoch,  perhaps  a  casting  by 
Lysippus. 

"This  foot  will  do  for  me,"  said  I  to  the  dealer, 
who  looked  at  me  with  a  sly,  ironical  glance,  as  he 
held  it  out  to  allow  me  to  examine  it  more  comfortably. 

I  was  surprised  at  its  lightness.  It  was  not  a  foot 
of  metal,  but  of  flesh ;  an  embalmed  foot,  a  mummy's 
foot.  On  looking  closely  the  grain  of  the  skin  and  the 
almost  imperceptible  mark  made  by  the  bandages  could 
be  perceived.  The  toes  were  small  and  delicate,  with 
perfect,  pure  nails,  transparent  as  agate  ;  the  great  toe, 
somewhat  apart,  after  the  fashion  of  antiquity,  con- 
trasted happily  with  the  direction  of  the  other  toes,  and 
gave  it  a  free  attitude,  the  neat  aspect  of  a  bird's  foot. 
The  sole,  scarcely  marked  by  a  few  faint  lines,  had 
evidently  never  corue  in  contact  with  the  ground,  and 
had  trodden  only  upon  the  finest  matting  of  Nile  reeds, 
and  the  softest  carpets  of  panther's-skins. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  you  want  the  foot  of  the  Princess  Her- 
monthis,"  said  the  dealer,  with  a  horrible  chuckle,  as 
he  fixed  upon  me  his  owl-like  glance.    "  Ha  !  ha !  — 

329 


i:  i:  4:    i:  &    £  i:  4r  £      ^?  tfc  £  :fc  tt:   tfc  tfc  4: 4: 4: 

THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


for  a  paper-weight  !  That  is  a  novel  idea;  that  is  an 
artist's  idea.  If  old  Pharaoh  had  been  told  that  his 
adored  daughter's  foot  would  be  used  as  a  paper-weight 
he  would  have  been  astounded,  considering  that  he  was 
having  a  mountain  of  granite  hollowed  out  in  order  to 
put  inside  the  triple  painted  and  gilded  coffin,  covered 
with  hieroglyphs,  with  beautiful  paintings  representing 
the  judgment  of  the  soul,"  added  the  queer  little  dealer, 
in  a  low  voice,  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 

"  How  much  will  you  sell  me  this  fragment  of  a 
mummy  for  ?  " 

"  As  dear  as  I  can,  for  it  is  quite  a  curiosity.  If  I 
had  the  companion  to  it,  I  would  not  let  you  have  the 
pair  for  less  than  five  hundred  francs.  Pharaoh's 
daughters  are  scarce,  very  scarce." 

"  I  know  it ;  I  am  aware  that  it  is  not  very  common  ; 
but  how  much  do  you  want  ?  To  begin  with,  I  must 
inform  you  that  my  whole  wealth  amounts  to  five  louis. 
I  shall  buy  whatever  may  cost  five  louis,  but  nothing 
more.  You  might  search  the  back  pockets  of  my  vests, 
and  my  most  secret  drawers,  you  would  not  find  another 
sou  in  them." 

w  Five  louis  for  the  foot  of  Princess  Hermonthis  ! 
That  is  very  little,  very  little  indeed  for  an  authentic 


330 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


foot,"  said  the  dealer,  wagging  his  head  and  rolling  his 
eyes.  "  Well,  take  it.  I  will  give  you  the  wrapper 
into  the  bargain,"  he  added,  as  he  rolled  the  foot  in  an 
old  piece  of  damask.  "  It  is  very  beautiful  genuine 
Indian  damask ;  never  has  been  dyed  ;  it  is  strong  and 
sound,"  he  muttered,  as  he  rubbed  with  his  fingers  the 
worn  tissue  ;  the  force  of  commercial  habit  making  him 
praise  an  object  of  so  little  value  that  even  he  thought 
it  might  as  well  be  given  away. 

He  slipped  the  gold  pieces  into  a  sort  of  mediaeval 
purse  hanging  from  his  belt,  repeating,  "  The  foot  of 
Princess  Hermonthis  for  a  paper-weight  !  " 

Then,  fixing  on  me  his  flaming  eyes,  he  said,  in  a 
voice  as  strident  as  the  mewing  of  a  cat  that  has  just 
swallowed  a  fish-bone:  "  Old  Pharaoh  will  not  be 
very  pleased ;  he  was  very  fond  of  his  daughter,  the 
worthy  man." 

"You  talk  about  him  as  if  you  were  his  contempo- 
rary. Old  though  you  are,  you  do  not  quite  go  back  to 
the  Pyramids  of  Egypt,"  I  replied  laughingly,  as  I  passed 
out  of  the  shop. 

I  returned  home,  very  well  satisfied  with  my  purchase, 
and  in  order  to  turn  it  to  account  at  once,  I  placed  the 
foot  of  the  divine  Princess  Hermonthis  upon  a  bundle 


33 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


of  papers,  drafts  of  verses,  an  undecipherable  mosaic  of 
corrections,  beginnings  of  articles,  forgotten  letters 
which  I  had  posted  in  the  drawer,  —  a  mistake  often 
committed  by  absent-minded  people.  The  effect  the 
foot  produced  was  charming,  eccentric,  and  romantic. 

Greatly  pleased  with  this  embellishment  of  my  table, 
I  went  out  into  the  street  and  walked  along  with  the 
gravity  and  the  pride  that  become  a  man  who  has  over 
every  passer-by  he  elbows  the  ineffable  advantage  of 
possessing  a  portion  of  the  Princess  Hermonthis,  daugh- 
ter of  the  Pharaoh.  I  considered  as  beneath  contempt  all 
those  who  did  not  possess,  as  I  did,  so  notoriously 
Egyptian  a  paper-weight,  and  it  appeared  to  me  that  the 
proper  business  in  the  life  of  a  sensible  man  was  to  have 
a  mummy's  foot  on  his  writing-table.  Happily,  I  met 
some  friends,  who  drew  me  out  of  my  infatuation.  I 
went  to  dinner  with  them,  for  it  would  have  been  diffi- 
cult for  me  to  dine  with  myself. 

When  I  returned  at  night,  my  head  filled  with  a  light, 
pearly-gray  vapour,  a  faint  puff  of  oriental  perfume 
tickled  my  olfactory  nerves.  The  warmth  of  the  room 
had  warmed  up  the  natron,  bitumen,  and  myrrh  in  which 
the  embalmers  had  dipped  the  princess's  body.  It  was 
a  sweet  and  penetrating  perfume  that  had  not  wholly 


332 


db  tir  t''         ^  jjrttrA 

THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


evaporated  during  the  lapse  of  four  thousand  years  ;  for 
Egypt  dreamed  of  eternity  :  its  odours  have  the  solidity  of 
granite  and  last  as  long. 

I  soon  drank  deep  of  the  black  cup  of  sleep.  For  an 
hour  or  two  everything  remained  a  blank,  and  I  sank 
in  the  sombre  waves  of  forgetfulness  and  nothingness. 
Then  my  intellectual  darkness  lightened,  and  dreams 
began  to  flutter  silently  around.  The  eyes  of  my  soul 
were  opened,  and  I  saw  my  room  such  as  it  actually 
was.  I  might  have  thought  myself  awake.  A  strange 
feeling  convinced  me  that  I  was  asleep  and  that  some- 
thing curious  was  about  to  happen. 

The  odour  of  myrrh  had  grown  stronger,  and  I  felt 
a  slight  headache,  which  I  very  naturally  attributed  to  a 
number  of  glasses  of  champagne  which  we  had  drunk  to 
the  unknown  gods  and  our  future  success.  I  looked 
round  the  room  with  a  feeling  of  expectation  that  noth- 
ing justified.  The  furniture  was  in  its  place,  the  lamp 
burning  on  the  table,  pleasantly  softened  by  the  milky 
whiteness  of  the  ground-glass  globe;  the  water-colours 
shimmered  under  their  Bohemian  glass;  the  curtains 
hung  languidly;  everything  looked  serene  and  quiet. 

But  after  a  few  moments  this  peaceful  interior  seemed 
to  be  disturbed.    The  wood-work  cracked  furtively,  the 


333 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


log  buried  in  the  ashes  suddenly  shot  out  a  jet  of  blue 
flame,  and  the  disks  of  the  coat-hooks  looked  like  metal 
eyes,  attentively  watching,  as  I  was,  for  whatever  was 
about  to  happen. 

By  chance  I  glanced  at  the  table  on  which  I  had 
placed  the  foot  of  the  Princess  Hermonthis.  Instead  of 
resting  quietly  as  became  a  foot  embalmed  for  more  than 
four  thousand  years,  it  was  moving,  contracting,  and 
hopping  about  the  papers  like  a  frightened  frog.  I 
could  have  sworn  it  was  in  contact  with  a  voltaic  bat- 
tery. I  could  quite  distinctly  hear  the  sharp  sound  made 
by  its  little  heel,  as  hard  as  a  gazelle's  hoof. 

I  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  my  purchase,  for  I 
prefer  sedentary  paper-weights,  and  it  does  not  seem 
natural  to  me  to  see  feet  going  about  without  limbs. 
Indeed,  I  began  to  experience  something  not  unlike 
fear. 

Suddenly  I  saw  a  fold  of  one  of  my  curtains  move, 
and  I  heard  a  sound  like  that  made  by  a  person  hopping 
round  on  one  foot.  I  must  confess  I  turned  cold  and 
hot  alternately  ;  a  strange  chill  ran  up  and  down  my 
back,  and  my  hair  stood  up  on  my  head. 

The  curtains  opened,  and  I  saw  coming  forward  the 
strangest  figure  imaginable.     It  was  that  of  a  young  girl 


3.34 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


of  a  very  dark  coffee-colour,  like  Amani  the  bayadere,  of 
perfect  beauty,  and  recalling  the  purest  Egyptian  type. 
Her  almond-shaped  eyes  were  turned  up  at  the  corners, 
and  her  eyebrows  were  so  black  that  they  showed  blue. 
Her  nose  was  delicately  shaped,  almost  Greek  in  its 
outline,  and  she  might  have  been  taken  for  a  Corinthian 
bronze  statue,  but  that  the  prominence  of  the  cheek- 
bones and  the  somewhat  African  size  of  the  mouth 
showed  plainly  that  she  belonged  to  the  hieroglyphic 
race  of  the  banks  of  the  Nile.  Her  well-shaped  arms, 
slender  like  those  of  very  young  girls,  were  clasped  by 
metal  and  glass  bracelets  ;  her  hair  was  plaited  into  little 
tresses  ;  and  on  her  bosom  hung  an  idol  of  green  clay, 
which  I  recognised  by  the  seven-tailed  whip  as  Isis,  the 
conductress  of  souls ;  on  her  brow  shone  a  plate  of  gold, 
and  some  traces  of  rouge  were  visible  on  her  copper- 
coloured  cheeks. 

As  for  her  costume,  it  was  strange  indeed.  Imagine 
a  loin  cloth  of  narrow  bands  covered  with  black  and  red 
hieroglyphics,  stiff  with  bitumen,  which  seemed  to 
belong  to  a  recently  unrolled  mummy. 

By  one  of  those  sudden  changes  of  thought  which 
are  so  frequent  in  dreams,  I  heard  the  shrill,  hoarse  voice 
of  the  bric-a-brac  dealer  repeating  like  a  monotonous 


335 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


refrain  the  remark  he  had  made  in  his  shop  in  so  enig- 
matic a  tone:  — 

"  Old  Pharaoh  will  not  be  very  much  pleased.  He 
was  very  fond  of  his  daughter,  the  worthy  man." 

There  was  one  curious  peculiarity  which  did  not 
contribute  to  reassure  me,  —  the  apparition  had  but  one 
foot.    The  other  leg  was  broken  off  at  the  ankle. 

She  went  to  the  table,  where  the  mummy's  foot  was 
jumping  and  quivering  with  greater  rapidity.  On  reach- 
ing it,  she  leaned  upon  the  edge,  and  I  saw  a  tear  grow 
in  her  eyes.  Though  she  said  not  a  word,  I  could 
clearly  make  out  her  thoughts.  She  looked  at  the  foot, 
for  it  was  hers,  with  an  infinitely  graceful  expression  of 
coquettish  sadness,  while  the  foot  ran  and  leaped  hither 
and  thither  as  if  moved  by  steel  springs. 

Twice  or  thrice  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  seize 
it,  but  failed  to  do  so. 

Then  there  took  place  between  the  Princess  Hermon- 
this  and  her  foot,  which  appeared  endowed  with  a 
life  of  its  own,  a  very  curious  dialogue,  in  a  very 
ancient  Coptic  dialect,  such  as  was  spoken  some  thirty 
centuries  ago  in  the  mummy  pits  of  the  country  of 
Ser.  Luckily  that  night  I  happened  to  know  Coptic 
perfectly  well. 


336 


is  £  :b  £  4:          £  4: &        4: 4r  &  tfc  db  tfc  4?    jfc  4r 

THE   MUMMY'S  FOOT 


Princess  Hermonthis  said  in  a  sweet  voice  that  vibrated 
like  a  crystal  bell :  — 

"  Well,  my  dear  little  foot,  so  you  are  still  fleeing  from 
me,  though  I  took  good  care  of  you.  I  washed  you 
with  scented  water  in  an  alabaster  basin ;  I  polished  your 
heel  with  pumice-stone  dipped  in  palm  oil ;  I  cut  your 
nails  with  golden  scissors,  and  polished  them  with  hippo- 
potamus-teeth ;  I  took  care  to  choose  for  you  painted 
and  embroidered  sandals  with  turned-up  points,  that 
made  every  Egyptian  girl  envy  us.  I  put  on  your  toes 
rings  representing  the  sacred  scarabaeus,  and  you  sup- 
ported one  of  the  daintiest  bodies  that  a  lazy  foot  could 
wish  for." 

The  foot  replied  in  a  sulky  tone :  — 

"You  know  very  well  I  do  not  belong  to  myself  any 
more.  I  have  been  purchased  and  paid  for.  The  old 
dealer  knew  what  he  was  doing.  He  is  still  angry  with 
you  for  refusing  to  marry  him.  It  is  a  trick  that  he  is 
playing  upon  you.  The  Arab  that  broke  open  your 
royal  coffin  in  the  subterranean  well  of  the  Theban 
Necropolis  had  been  sent  by  him.  He  meant  to  prevent 
your  going  to  the  meeting  of  the  people  in  darkness  in 
the  lower  cities.  Have  you  got  five  gold  pieces  to  buy 
me  back  with  ?  " 


22 


337 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


"  Alas,  I  have  not.  My  gems,  my  rings,  my  purses 
of  gold  and  silver,  everything  has  been  stolen  from 
me,"  replied  Princess  Hermonthis,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Princess,"  I  cried  then,  "  I  have  never  unjustly 
kept  back  any  one's  foot.  Although  you  have  not  got 
the  five  louis  which  I  paid  for  it,  I  return  it  to  you 
most  willingly.  I  should  be  uncommonly  sorry  to 
cripple  so  lovely  a  person  as  Princess  Hermonthis." 

The  beautiful  Egyptian  must  have  been  surprised  at 
the  Regency  manner  and  the  troubadour  tone  in  which 
I  spoke  this  speech.  She  cast  upon  me  a  glance  full 
of  gratitude,  and  her  eyes  lighted  up  with  blue  flashes. 
She  took  her  foot,  which  allowed  itself  to  be  caught 
this  time,  like  a  woman  about  to  put  on  a  shoe,  and 
fitted  it  very  skilfully  to  her  leg,  after  which  she  took 
two  or  three  steps  through  the  room,  as  if  to  make 
certain  that  she  was  really  no  longer  a  cripple. 

"  How  glad  my  father  will  be,  for  he  was  so  troubled 
by  the  mutilation  I  suffered.  The  very  day  I  was 
born  he  had  set  a  whole  nation  to  work  to  dig  me 
a  tomb  deep  enough  to  preserve  me  intact  until  the 
great  day  when  souls  are  to  be  weighed  in  the  balances 
of  Amenthi.  Come  with  me  to  him.  He  will  wel- 
come you,  for  you  have  restored  my  foot  to  me." 


338 


THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


The  proposal  struck  me  as  quite  natural.  I  put  on 
a  dressing-gown  with  a  great  flowered  pattern,  in 
which  I  looked  most  Pharaoh-like,  hastily  slipped  my 
feet  into  a  pair  of  Turkish  slippers,  and  told  Princess 
Hermonthis  that  I  was  ready  to  follow  her. 

Before  leaving,  she  took  from  her  neck  the  little 
figure  in  green  china,  and  placed  it  upon  the  scattered 
papers  that  covered  my  table. 

"  It  is  only  right,"  she  said,  "  that  I  should  give 
you  something  in  place  of  your  paper-weight." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  me.  It  was  soft  and  cold 
as  a  serpent's  skin.    We  were  off. 

We  sped  for  some  time  as  swift  as  an  arrow  through 
a  grayish  fluid  air  in  which  faintly  outlined  forms 
passed  to  right  and  left.  At  one  time  nothing  was 
visible  but  sky  and  water.  Presently  obelisks  began  to 
show  up  j  pylons  and  long  stairs,  with  sphinxes  ranged 
all  the  way  down,  stood  out  against  the  horizon.  We 
had  arrived. 

The  princess  led  me  to  a  mountain  of  rose  granite, 
in  which  there  was  a  low,  narrow  opening  which  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  distinguish  from  the  cracks 
in  the  stone  had  not  a  couple  of  stelae  covered  with 
carvings  made  it  recognisable. 


339 


db  *  -k  £  *  £  ±  &  4,4.^*4:4. 4.4;dbtfcdb  £ 

THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


Hermonthis  lighted  a  torch  and  walked  on  before  me. 

We  entered  corridors  cut  in  the  living  rock ;  the 
walls,  covered  with  panels  of  hieroglyphs  and  allegorical 
processions,  must  have  occupied  thousands  of  men  for 
thousands  of  years.  These  corridors,  interminably 
long,  ended  in  square  halls,  in  the  centre  of  which 
were  dug  wells.  We  descended  these  by  means  of 
cramp-irons  or  of  spiral  staircases.  The  wells  led  into 
other  chambers  from  which  issued  other  corridors,  also 
adorned  with  hawks,  serpents  biting  their  tails,  repre- 
sentations of  the  mystic  tau,  pedum,  and  bari,  —  a  pro- 
digious piece  of  work  which  no  living  eye  was  to  see, 
endless  legends  in  granite  which  the  dead  alone  had 
time  to  read  during  eternity. 

At  last  we  entered  so  vast,  so  enormous,  so  immense 
a  hall  that  its  limits  were  invisible.  As  far  as  I  could 
see  stretched  rows  of  monstrous  pillars,  between  which 
gleamed  limpid  stars  of  yellow  light.  These  brilliant 
points  indicated  incalculable  depths. 

Princess  Hermonthis  still  held  my  hand,  and  bowed 
graciously  to  the  mummies  of  her  acquaintance. 

My  eyes  becoming  accustomed  to  the  twilight,  I 
began  to  discern  objects.  I  saw  seated  upon  thrones 
the  kings  of  subterranean  races.    They  were  tall,  dry 


340 


THE   MUMMY'S  FOOT 


old  men,  wrinkled,  parchment-like,  black  with  naphtha 
and  bitumen,  wearing  the  golden  pschent,  pectorals, 
and  neckplates  covered  with  gems,  their  eyes  staring 
like  those  of  sphinxes,  and  they  wore  long  beards, 
whitened  with  the  snow  of  centuries.  Behind  them 
stood  their  embalmed  peoples,  in  the  stiff,  con- 
strained attitudes  of  Egyptian  art,  preserving  forever 
the  pose  prescribed  by  the  hieratic  code ;  behind  the 
peoples,  the  cats,  ibises,  and  crocodiles  of  those  days, 
made  more  mysterious  still  by  being  swathed  up  in 
bands,  mewed,  flapped  their  wings,  and  chuckled. 

Every  Pharaoh  was  there,  Cheops,  Chephrenes, 
Psammetichus,  Sesostris,  Amenoteph  ;  all  the  swarthy 
lords  of  pyramids  and  pits.  On  a  higher  throne 
sat  King  Chronos,  Xixouthros,  who  lived  in  the 
days  of  the  deluge,  and  Tubal  Cain,  who  preceded 
him. 

King  Xixouthros's  beard  had  grown  so  much  that 
it  had  already  circled  seven  times  the  granite  table  on 
which  he  leaned,  dreamy  and  sleepy. 

Farther  away,  through  a  dusty  vapour,  through  the 
mist  of  eternities,  I  managed  to  make  out  the  seventy- 
two  pre-Adamite  kings,  with  their  seventy-two  peoples, 
vanished  forever. 


34i 


pi/%  «!/»  r  ( -»  fts  »i«  »l„  rl  -*  «JU  »1*  »JU  .Jt*         »!•         j|j  fjj  t|j  »i» 

THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


Princess  Hermonthis,  having  allowed  me  to  enjoy 
this  marvellous  spectacle  for  a  few  moments,  presented 
me  to  the  Pharaoh,  her  father,  who  nodded  to  me 
most  majestically. 

"  I  have  found  my  foot,  I  have  found  my  foot !  " 
cried  the  Princess,  clapping  her  little  hands  together, 
with  every  mark  of  mad  joy.  "  It  is  this  gentleman 
who  gave  it  back  to  me." 

The  races  of  Kerne,  of  Nahasi,  all  the  black,  bronze, 
and  copper-coloured  nations,  repeated  together :  — 

"  The  Princess  Hermonthis  has  found  her  foot 
again." 

Xixouthros  himself  was  interested.  He  raised  his 
heavy  lids,  stroked  his  moustache,  and  let  fall  upon 
me  his  glance,  laden  with  centuries. 

"  By  Oms,  the  dog  of  Hades,  and  Tmei,  daughter 
of  the  Sun  and  of  Truth,  you  are  a  fine  and  worthy 
fellow,"  said  the  Pharaoh,  extending  towards  me  his 
sceptre,  ending  in  a  lotus  flower.  "  What  will  you 
have  for  a  reward  ?  " 

Bold  as  one  is  in  dreams,  in  which  nothing  seems 
impossible,  I  asked  for  the  hand  of  Hermonthis.  It 
struck  me  that  to  get  the  hand  in  return  for  the  foot 
was  an  antithetical  reward  in  pretty  good  taste. 


342 


THE   MUMMY'S  FOOT 


The  Pharaoh  opened  wide  his  glass  eyes,  amazed  at 
my  joke  and  my  request. 

"What  is  your  country,  and  what  is  your  age  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  Frenchman,  and  I  am  twenty-seven  years 
old,  venerable  Pharaoh." 

"  Twenty-seven  years !  and  he  proposes  to  wed 
Princess  Hermonthis,  who  is  thirty  centuries  old," 
cried  out  together  all  the  thrones  and  all  the  circles  of 
nations. 

Hermonthis  alone  did  not  think  my  request  at  all 
improper. 

r  If  you  were  only  two  thousand  years  old,"  an- 
swered the  old  king,  "  I  would  willingly  give  you  the 
Princess;  but  the  disproportion  is  too  great;  and  then, 
we  must  have  for  our  daughters  husbands  that  can  last. 
You  people  do  not  know  how  to  preserve  yourselves. 
The  last,  brought  here  scarcely  fifteen  centuries  ago, 
are  now  nothing  but  a  handful  of  ashes.  See,  my  own 
flesh  is  hard  as  basalt,  my  bones  are  like  bars  of  steel. 
I  shall  see  the  last  day  of  the  world  with  the  same  body 
and  the  same  face  as  I  had  when  alive.  My  daughter 
Hermonthis  will  endure  longer  than  a  bronze  statue. 
By  that  time  the  wind  will  have  scattered  the  last  grain 
of  your  dust,  and  Isis  herself,  who  managed  to  find  the 


343 


i:  is  k  is  is  is  is  is  is  sb  £  4?  4: 4r  4:  tl?  &  tb  db  4?  J?  tfc  A  sfc 

THE    MUMMY'S  FOOT 


pieces  of  Osiris,  would  be  hard  put  to  it  to  reconstruct 
your  frame.  See  how  vigorous  I  am  yet,  and  how 
strong  my  arms  are,"  said  he,  as  he  shook  hands  with 
me  in  English  fashion,  so  that  he  cut  my  fingers  with 
my  rings. 

He  squeezed  my  hand  so  hard  that  I  awoke,  and 
perceived  my  friend  Alfred,  pulling  me  by  the  arm, 
and  shaking  me  to  make  me  get  up. 

"  Look  here,  you  confounded  sleeper,  shall  I  have 
to  take  you  out  into  the  street  and  to  set  off  fireworks 
at  your  ears  ?  It  is  past  noon.  Have  you  forgotten 
that  you  promised  to  call  for  me  to  go  to  see  Aguado's 
Spanish  paintings  ? " 

"  Good  gracious,  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it,"  replied 
I,  as  I  dressed.  "  We  shall  go  at  once.  I  have  the 
invitation  here  on  my  table." 

As  I  spoke,  I  stepped  forward  to  take  up  the  card ; 
but  judge  of  my  astonishment  when,  instead  of  the 
mummy's  foot  which  I  had  bought  the  night  before, 
I  saw  the  little  figure  of  green  clay  put  in  its  place  by 
the  Princess  Hermonthis. 


344 


